Blood
by Athena Linborn
Summary: In order to ensure the continuation of a healthy bloodline, Draco Malfoy must marry a “Mudblood”. Only the best will do for the Malfoy family, but things aren't as straight forward as they seem, as the best candidate is Hermione Granger!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, the only thing that belongs to me is the plot, the rest is the property of J.K. Rowling - a shame but there you go!

Authors Note: Kurbs-Blood is a disease, which I have made up, although its genetic basis is realistic enough, in that it is similar to Haemophilia. Please review and let me know what you think!

Prologue

It was a typical cold November evening. Lucius Malfoy stifled a yawn as he listened to the wind howling mournfully around the house, causing drafts and currents of cold air to seep through his thick wool cloak. He always hated such evenings, and thought longingly of the roaring fire that would no doubt be ablaze in the half of his comfortable study, in Malfoy manor. He had been standing in the drafty, high-ceilinged room of Voldemort's home in the heart of the Albanian forest - at least that was where Lucius thought the house was situated, for the greater part of two hours, listening to Voldemort expounding on the theme of the purity of Blood. This being a subject close to Lucius' own heart, he had at first paid close attention to what Voldemort had been saying, but as the litany went on and on, along its usual lines of getting rid of muggles and all they represented, his mind had drifted to other matters requiring his attention. The most urgent of these was the problem of his son Draco.

As an old pureblood family, who had traditions and standards to maintain within wizarding society, it was essential that Lucius find Draco a suitable bride soon - preferably before the end of Draco's graduation from Hogwarts, which was less than a year away. He reviewed in his mind the likely candidates, matching them against his own requirements. The problem was that none seemed to match them. In frustration he frowned, wishing for the tenth time that this meeting would be over, so he could go home, and think about this problem without being disturbed. He wondered idly how many arguments he and Narcissa had had on this subject - too many to keep count, he thought disparagingly. She just could not see things his way, preferring to do what was easiest, but as the head of the Malfoy family, it was his responsibility to ensure the bloodline continued no matter what.

A rustling of clothing around him brought Lucius' attention sharply back to his surroundings. Glancing about him, he saw the gathered Death Eaters hastily preparing to depart back to their own homes. The meeting had obviously come to an end. Trying to hide his relief, he too went to move away from the circle of people surrounding Lord Voldemort, but a cold, all-too-familiar voice stopped him.

"One moment, Lucius my friend." Lucius' heart sank at these words, although he showed no outward sign of fear. He turned back to the tall skeletally thin figure now standing alone in the centre of the room. The Dark Lord smiled, gesturing for Lucius to follow him. Wordlessly, Lucius followed him out of the room and into another, which looked very comfortable. Motioning him to be seated, Voldemort called for a house-elf. A thin-faced elf, wearing what looked like a rag wrapped around its skinny body, appeared in the room with a faint pop, carrying a tray of drinks.

Lucius frowned at this. It seemed that The Dark Lord had planned this discussion before the start of the meeting - he hoped this was a good indication, thinking it unlikely that he was to be rebuked for his lack of attention during the meeting. He wondered uneasily what this discussion was going to be about. Normally, if The Dark Lord wished to chastise someone, he would not take the trouble of taking him or her to his private study and offering them a drink. On the contrary, he would want to ensure that the person was as uncomfortable as possible, preferably cowering at his feet on a hard stone floor.

"What will you have Lucius?" Voldemort asked in a hissing voice guaranteed to send shivers up the spine.

Without any hesitation, Lucius nodded towards the brandy decanter, thinking he would probably need the stiff drink to give him Dutch courage, if nothing else. Immediately, the nervous looking house-elf poured him a glass of the amber coloured liquid, and then hastily departed the room.

Once the house-elf had gone, Voldemort smiled his lipless smile and said, "Well my faithful friend, it is nice to sit here and have a drink, don't you think?"

Lucius forced a smile in response to this, and the reptilian figure carried on talking. "I won't beat about the bush" (no doubt a muggle expression, Lucius thought) "But I noticed the other day something rather strange! I was sitting here working out my next campaign for getting rid of muggle filth, when I happened to notice this book sitting on my shelf." He handed Lucius an old, shabby looking book, which looked as though one tug would rip it in to shreds. The faded title on the cover read "Blood: Magical properties and Differences within Different Types of Blood" by Professor Gilf Hinder. Lucius turned the book over in his hands, trying to decide where this conversation was leading.

"I must admit that when I first came across this book, it didn't seem particularly interesting." Voldemort went on. "How wrong I was! I decided to skim through it, and it taught me a lot about blood, and more especially its magical properties. Lucius, do you know why you are a pureblood?" Lucius smiled at this.

"Certainly I know, my lord. It is because no member of my family is or ever has been related to muggles. Our bloodlines have no muggle genes in them." This answer seemed to amuse The Dark Lord rather than please him as such.

"I'm surprised that you know so much about it, Lucius. I wouldn't have thought that someone such as you knows what genes are. After all, it is not something which is taught at Hogwarts." He leaned back in his winged chair thoughtfully regarding the whisky glass held in his bony right hand.

"Well, I decided to do a bit of background reading, which has proved invaluable especially as Draco is beginning to ask questions about such matters as blood." As soon as he mentioned Draco's name, Lucius wished he hadn't. This was a sure way of annoying Voldemort, as Draco for some reason Lucius hadn't yet worked out, had refused to join the Death Eaters. But this evening, The Dark Lord simply smiled.

"So do you think that all muggle genes are filth then Lucius?" Voldemort asked in an amused drawl.

"Why yes, my Lord, there is nothing their genes have that ours do not."

"Tell me, how many children has Narcissa borne now?"

Lucius bit his lip at this sudden change in the direction of the conversation, but did not dare show his displeasure too openly. Grudgingly, he answered, "She's borne six children, out of whom only Draco survived. According to the medi-wizards at St Mungo's, Narcissa isn't particularly good at bearing children, although I am assured this is no fault of hers. Apparently, some women are just made like that." He trailed off under Voldemort's knife-like gaze.

"I've had a look at the Malfoy records, they say nothing about Narcissa's unsuitability to bear children," the other wizard contradicted softly, "they made for an interesting read, I can tell you. Having perused them, I began to think seriously, and that is where this book came in handy," He jerked his head at the book, resting on the coffee table beside Lucius' chair. "According to the records, five out of six of your children died of a disease which affects only children born to pureblood parents. The disease is called Kurb-Skalator and is more commonly known as Kurbs-blood."

Lucius felt as though the ground had been yanked from beneath him. He was of course, only too aware of the reason why five of his children had died, and had forbidden any of the medi-wizards or witches attending Narcissa to breath a word about it. Kurbs-blood was becoming a common killer of infants born to pureblood parents, and it seemed there was very little that could be done about it. Maybe The Dark Lord had managed to think of a cure for it, but even as the idea entered Lucius' head, he laughed at the notion. The day Voldemort invented something to help rather than destroy people, would be the day that Albus Dumbledore went over to the dark side. Voldemort's voice pulled him from his reverie with a start.

"This book has thrown some light on the make-up of people, and has suggested that Kurbs-blood may have a genetic basis. As you know, before the age of eleven, I was brought up in a muggle orphanage, in which I was expected to attend school. We were taught all about the different royal families within Europe, and all the inter-marrying that took place between them, to ensure that royal blood stayed within these families, as well as strengthening ties between their respective countries. In the last few centuries, people from such families which had been interbreeding for as long as anyone could remember, began to develop illnesses such as Haemophilia, which curtailed life expectancy dramatically. It's strange, but I thought I had forgotten all this muggle history, but it all came back to me while I was reading your family birth records. Anyway, the reason such diseases were manifesting themselves, was to do with the genetic make-up of the parents of the children. People had too many, let's say faulty genes, which were being passed down to their children, who died as a result of these faulty genes. According to your records as well as those of other pureblood families, the same problem is at fault within your own bloodline - am I not right?"

"Well, I suppose so, but there is nothing that anyone can do about it. What I mean is, according to the medi-wizards there's no cure for Kurbs-blood." Lucius responded trying not to sound defensive.

There was a slight pause and then Voldemort said, "We'll come back to that, but as I was saying before we started discussing your family, this book talks about the different magic in the blood of pureblood witches and wizards and those of muggle heritage. It reveals some very interesting facts, as I'm sure you will agree with me." He shot Lucius a penetrating look before explaining, "As you know, magic is something that resides in the blood. In purebloods, it is contained in a substance called haemoglobin, which resides in the red blood cells. In mudbloods, sorry – those of muggle descent, it is contained in the platelets. To simplify matters, if there is something wrong with the haemoglobin in purebloods, their magic is affected, resulting in squibs. The difference in the platelets of those muggles who have magic in them, and those who do not, is the shape of the platelets. It's thought, and I'm beginning to agree with this idea, that those people whose magic is most stable are those who have magic in both their haemoglobin and platelets – that is, someone with one pureblood parent and one mudblood parent."

This statement was met with silence from Lucius, who sat as though turned to stone. Was The Dark Lord serious? If Lucius had interpreted his meaning correctly, he was suggesting that Draco should marry a filthy mudblood. Lucius went cold with horror at this thought. No, surely he had read things wrongly, Voldemort would never tell him to do such an awful thing, after all, he was as keen as Lucius to preserve the Malfoy bloodline, wasn't he? Suddenly, Lucius didn't feel so sure. But of course, The Dark Lord thought the purity of blood to be important, or else why had he given the Death Eaters a long homily on the subject, lasting almost two hours ending only fifteen minutes ago? But then a nasty little voice in Lucius' head, spoke up saying, "But you weren't listening to what Voldemort was saying, remember? You were thinking about finding Draco a suitable wife, remember?" He scowled, trying to block out the intrusive voice, and once again turned his attention to Voldemort.

"Tell me Lucius, have you given any thought to your son's future; his marriage for example?" came the deceptively quiet question.

"Yes of course, only last night Narcissa and I were discussing possible matches." Lucius answered swiftly.

"And?"

"There are a number of girls from suitable families such as the Parkinsons, the Bulstrodes, the Nantons, and the Ashworths. All these families have girls who are suitable, that is to say, they are purebloods and are from Slytherin, and not averse to the dark arts."

"But who look like trolls in Ms Bulstrode's case. Ms Ashworth is six years older than your son. Ms Nanton is as gormless as Crabbe and Goyle put together, and Ms Parkinson; well… nice looking is something she's not. Anyway, I believe that Kurbs-blood has reared its head in each of those families. There are of course other pureblood families who have girls you may consider. True, they are not Slytherins, but nevertheless people such as, oh...I don't know, the Forcettes, the Weasleys, the Purks, the Bones, the Abbots, the Brocklehursts, the Patils, the Hinshaws, the list is endless. Even if any of them did consent to allow their daughters to marry your son, which I doubt, being the Dumbledore lovers they are, there is still that other problem. I don't believe there is one pureblood family, who has not had Kurbs-blood visit it at some time in its history, making it highly likely that most purebloods are carriers of the gene. You cannot risk that, with things the way they are. It is probable that Draco carries the gene for Kurbs-blood, and it only needs the same gene in his wife, to ensure the child is born without any haemoglobin in its red blood cells, and consequently dead." A smug Voldemort informed Lucius silkily.

This of course, was the problem that had kept Lucius Malfoy awake for several nights now. He could not see a way out of this situation, no matter how much he racked his brains. The only solution was for him to have every single eligible, pureblood girl tested to see if she was a carrier of the gene, and find one who was not. He was well aware that this was an impractical, costly, time-consuming solution. Even if it did yield results, what was the likelihood the girl would consent to the marriage?

As though Voldemort was reading his thoughts he now said, "I suppose you could kidnap every eligible pureblood girl, have her tested, and if you find one who isn't a carrier, force her to marry your son. You know as well as I do, that is impractical and there is no guarantee there will be a positive outcome. For this reason I have done some thinking on your behalf: It is true I don't much like mudbloods, but they do have their uses, and this is something that we mustn't forget. Some of them are very powerful witches and wizards - look at Lily Potter. If she hadn't been such a powerful witch, there is no way she could have managed to protect that brat of hers against me - the most powerful wizard of all time. What you need, is a powerful muggle-born girl. Surely, such a girl can be found at Hogwarts?" He gave Lucius a lipless smile as he finished speaking.

"I don't know, I suppose so, but she'll be a mudblood, she will pollute and taint our bloodline, which is one of the purest..." In his agitation, Lucius had risen to his feet, and began to pace the length of the study. "We are so proud of our bloodline, we are known for it. People revere the Malfoy name." Lucius's voice faltered at the expression on Voldemort's face.

"What's the point of a pure bloodline that's almost certainly going to die out, if not in your son's generation, then in the next one? Lucius, you need to learn to see the wood from the trees, it is better to have half-blood children, who will ensure the continuation of the Malfoy name, than no children at all to carry on the Malfoy line, don't you think?" He didn't wait for a reply but went on, "This way, you will have the best of both worlds, your grandchildren will be Kurbs-blood free, and their magic will be much more stable than that of purebloods - look at the Potter brat. If what Wormtail says is true, that brat was able to produce a decent patronus in his third year. That is highly advanced magic, and most adult wizards - no names mentioned, still have trouble with that charm." He smirked.

"I'm sure that is just luck on his part - there is nothing that brat can do that Draco cannot. Anyway, that mudblood Granger, that friend of Potter's- she's one of the most powerful witches of our time, more so than Potter, and she is a mudblood through and through as well as this year's head girl!"

Voldemort smirked at this, "Well, there you have it, your answer to the problem of Draco's bride. If all I hear is true, I don't think he will be averse to marrying her. As you say, she is a very powerful witch, and will pass that magic on to her children. Coupled with the Malfoy line of magic, your grandchildren will indeed be powerful in their own right."

"Yes, but no matter how powerful she is, the fact still remains she is a mudblood, and nothing can change that." Lucius argued stubbornly.

"No, I agree with you there, but she's powerful and that is all that matters – remember that, you need a powerfully magical girl to ensure the continuation of your own bloodline and this girl fits the bill, what more is there to say?"

Lucius scowled; The Dark Lord was of course right, there were no particularly talented pure blood girls he knew of, and those there were, all had the shadow of the dreaded Kurbs-blood hanging over them, so what alternative did he have? Lucius stopped pacing, and frowned at Voldemort. If truth be told, he had never allowed himself to dwell on the possibility that Draco may have to marry a mudblood - he supposed he should call them muggle-borns. However, the idea of Granger did indeed sound appealing. He was well aware that she was the cleverest witch at Hogwarts, and if the amount of time Draco spent complaining about her was any indication, Lucius guessed that Draco probably did have a crush on her, but due to his position as a Malfoy, could do nothing about it.

His mind went back to his last argument with Narcissa. Like The Dark Lord, she too, had suggested that Draco marry a muggle-born girl. True, at the time, Lucius had been absolutely furious that Narcissa would even dare suggest such a thing, but now that Lord Voldemort himself had suggested it, maybe it would not be too bad. After all, what other options did they have? He decided grudgingly that if Draco had to marry a mudblood, it would have to be the most powerful one available - only the best would ever do for the Malfoy family!

"Go home and discuss this with your wife. I think you'll find she'll agree with me. She is a sensible woman and is only too aware of the problems of Draco marrying a pureblood girl. She's as anxious as yourself that the family continue to exist." Voldemort smirked again knowing his work for the evening was accomplished.

XoXoXoXo

With a faint pop, Lucius Apparated outside the gates of Malfoy manner. Above him, clouds scurried across the sky, obscuring the moon from sight. The night was chilly, and a cruel breeze, whipped around Lucius' face. Sighing, he began trudging up the long drive towards the manner where Narcissa was undoubtedly awaiting his return. He felt as though his whole world had turned upside-down, with no stable idea to which he could cling. It was one thing being told that the Malfoys would have to start marrying mudbloods in order to survive, by a mere medi-wizard, who could be shut up by one intimidating glance, but another if The Dark Lord himself said the same thing. The world had gone mad!

"Lucius, is that you?" Narcissa's voice rang out from the drawing room, as he entered the quiet hall.

"Yes, I'm back," his reply was sullen, and without another thought he strode in to the drawing room, to find Narcissa reclining on a sofa, smiling at him.

"How did it go?" she asked. One arm was resting casually on the back of her sofa, while she toyed with the stem of a wine glass between the fingers of her other hand. The light from the overhead chandelier picked out the blonde of her hair, leaving the rest of her face in shadow. At his entrance, she rose gracefully to her feet and glided over to plant a kiss on the air beside his cheek. "These meetings of yours seem to be taking longer and longer. What it is that your Dark Lord finds to discuss all this time?"

"He is not 'my' Dark Lord', as you put it. If, like any other sensible person, you joined the Death Eaters, you would know what it is that we discuss in these meetings." He snapped irritably.

"Lucius darling, we have been over this time and again. You know I can't join, I mean the things they do there, well, they aren't exactly fit for a lady. Killing muggles isn't a past-time I care to indulge in, as you well know. Imagine, all that blood and gore, the mere thought of it makes me shudder." Gliding back to her seat, she fixed him with an intent gaze before saying, "So, what have you decided with regards our son's future? Who will be the fortunate lady who will have the task of carrying on our esteemed family name?" There was an underlying note of sarcasm in her voice as she said this. "You never know, maybe she will be lucky in having more than one child who will survive!" There was now a bitter tinge to her voice, which Lucius didn't fail to notice.

"Narcissa, please don't start on that again. I've had a gruelling few hours, and the last thing I need is for you to keep whining about this. Anyway, the Dark Lord himself bought the subject up this evening."

"Really? And pray tell, what did he have to say about it?" Narcissa asked sitting back and eyeing him keenly.

"He said that we've no option but to dilute our blood by allowing a piece of muggle filth into the family. Apparently, this is the only thing we can do to ensure our bloodline survives." Lucius told her in a flat voice, and then sounding more hopeful he went on, "If you ask me, he has an ulterior motive in mind, but what it is, I do not know."

There was a pause and then Narcissa asked carefully, "Did he suggest any candidates for the position? What I mean is, did he specify any criteria we had to take in to account, when selecting her?"

"He insisted that she had to be a powerful witch within her own right. He mentioned that this would be the only way our bloodline would retain its magical power." Lucius recited pouring himself a drink from the crystal brandy decanter sitting on a side table.

"For someone who is no relation of ours, he's taking a lot of interest in you, is he not? I wonder what it is he is really after. Maybe he is hoping that Draco, or his heir, will take over once he himself dies." Narcissa suggested thoughtfully.

"As far as I am aware, he's immortal. Although as you say, why take the sudden interest? What's in it for him?" Lucius sipped his drink sitting back on the sofa.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure he'll inform you when the time is right. Just imagine, the prestige the family will receive if he does decide to make Draco or his son his own heir! No one would then dare look down upon us because the child is not a pureblood!" There was a definite note of satisfaction in Narcissa's voice now. Smiling sweetly at her husband she went on, "I think I will enjoy looking over all the muggle-born witches that Hogwarts, or even Beauxbatons for that matter, can offer. Draco, I'm sure, will help me. After all, it is his bride for whom we are looking. Yes, he can take his pick of pretty girls; although this business about her being a powerful witch, how will we know how powerful she actually is?"

"I believe there are spells, dark of course, to determine such matters. I am sure our own library holds texts containing such spells." He glanced in the direction of the library before going on, "There is a girl that the Dark Lord suggested we look at, and I've a suspicion that Draco is not unaware of her either. Her name is Hermione Granger. I'm sure you remember Draco going on about her?"

"Hogwarts' current head girl? Is she not that friend of the Potters' brat? I vaguely remember her: lots of bushy hair and front teeth that resemble those of a rabbit. Was she not in our box at the last Quidditch World Cup?" She frowned in thought.

"Yes, that's the one. According to Draco, Victor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, took her to the Yule Ball that year, so she can't be all that ugly. This is a matter we must discuss with Draco; he is coming home for Christmas, is he not? I'm sure he can tell us much more about her, and we can decide then whether she will be suitable or not!"

XoXoXoXo

Draco Malfoy stretched languidly on his huge four-poster bed. Glancing around his room, his mind wandered back to the happenings of the last two days, since he had been home. It was the Christmas holidays, and he had decided to come home and spend the festive season with his parents. In his last letter, Lucius Malfoy, had indicated that there was a matter of urgency he wished to discuss with Draco, and what a matter it was too! Draco couldn't help grinning at his good fortune.

On his first evening home, his parents had sat him down and explained all about the problems they had been encountering with regards finding him a suitable wife. At this point in his musings, Draco's face darkened with pain. He had not been aware that his mother had given birth to five other children, all of whom had died. He had always assumed his parents hadn't wanted any more children, and had not pursued the matter, thinking it had nothing to do with him. Admittedly, he had wanted siblings, as being an only child could be very lonely. There was only so much that money could buy, a fact of which Draco Malfoy was only too aware. He had often envied those students who had siblings, and often wondered what that companionship would be like. Being the child of parents to whom social standing meant everything, his childhood had been isolated. He reflected dully that even his friends had been chosen according to their suitability as companions for him.

He was pulled out of his musings by a tapping on the window. Getting up, he went over and opened it, letting in a Screech owl with a letter tied to its leg. He recognised it immediately; it was Pansy Parkinson's owl. Untying the letter, he opened it and read:

"Dear Draco,

I hope the holidays are going well. Isn't it nice being back home don't you think? I don't have much time but just had to ask, have your parents mentioned anything to you about a betrothal between us? I ask, because we were discussing it last night and according to Mother and Father, it won't be long until your parents ask for my hand. Is that not wonderful? I was thinking that maybe we could hold a huge party, you know, inviting the whole of Slytherin house.

Love,

Pansy"

Scowling, Draco folded up the letter, before tossing it on to his desk. He grinned to himself, imagining her waiting for his reply. It was just a shame he could not be there to witness Pansy's disappointment when she read it. Oh well, that couldn't be helped. He went back to thinking about his parents' suggestion of a bride - a mudblood of all people. He was aware of Kurbs-blood disease, everyone had heard of it - what he hadn't realised was how much it had effected his own family. He smiled, thinking of his Father's suggested bride, Granger! He allowed a broad grin to cross his face, at this delicious thought.

Ever since he had first met her on the train to Hogwarts, on that first day of their first year, he had been captivated by Hermione Granger's confident attitude towards life, although he had admitted this to no one. Over the years, his admiration of her talents had turned to undiluted frustration, as no matter how he tried, she always managed to beat him in every subject – his father's money and influence not withstanding. He was well aware she was the brains behind the 'Golden Trio's' escapades, or how else had that horrid hippogriff managed to escape execution back in their third year? He remembered all too clearly the events that had lead up to that night, especially when she had slapped him a few days before. Apart from stinging his cheek, the slap had taken him completely by surprise, as no one had ever dared do such a thing before. A girl hitting him! He had forbidden both Crabbe and Goyle to never mention it again, but rather than hating her for it, a burgeoning respect for her had been born on that day. It had been during the Yule Ball in their fourth year that his attention had been drawn to her physical beauty: those blue robes had shown off her clear skin to perfection, and as for her hair! That day, she had been unrecognisable – metamorphosing, from the bushy haired know-it-all he had come to grudgingly respect, into a beautiful and aloof stranger, whose poise and confidence had completely drawn him in. Since that night, he had stolen surreptitious glances at her during lessons, while her attention was elsewhere. She had grown a few inches in the last year, and he had spent a lot of time, especially during the last term, fantasising about the body beneath her school robes. Of course, those two oafs - Potter and Weasley - had not noticed her blossoming womanhood, but then they weren't the most observant people in the world.

He had stopped calling her 'mudblood' well over a year ago; the name seemed to have no effect on her, and the only person who got hurt was himself. As his parents had pointed out, she was one of the most powerful witches he had come across, and from what he had seen of her, one of the nicest people in their year. But how to capture her interest? That was the question he was now pondering. He supposed it was now time to make use of his status as a Malfoy, and start pulling a few strings!


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Hermione groaned as her alarm clock went off for the third time. It was 6.30 am, and unless she wanted to be late, she thought it best to get up. Yawning and stretching, she pulled herself from the warmth of her four-poster bed, staggered across her room, and into the marble tiled bathroom. As the jets of hot water from the showerhead hit her body, her thoughts finally began to arrange themselves into a coherent order, allowing her to think clearly for the first time that day.

Her mind went back to the wonderful holiday she had spent with her family at her home in Hertfordshire. It was very rare that Hermione was able to get away from Hogwarts at Christmas, but this year she had made a concerted effort to try and spend more time with her parents, whom she normally only got to see during the summer break. Being muggles, there was very little they understood about the magical world, and all in it. As a consequence, Hermione was becoming increasingly aware of the chasm growing between herself and her parents and younger brother, Mathew. She thought back to her childhood; when the world had seemed like a perfectly happy place, in which nothing could go wrong, and no one got hurt. She was four years old when the local educational psychologist pronounced her to be gifted. At the time, her parents had been absolutely thrilled with this revelation, and her education had taken on greater dimensions. She had moved up to the year 2 class, as this was thought to present a more stimulating challenge to her than the infant class. Her parents had also insisted on piano, violin and singing lessons, which she had carried on until she had left for Hogwarts.

Hermione remembered only too well the day her magical powers had first manifested themselves. She was four and a half years of age. It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon, and the children had been allowed to play in the huge sand pit that dominated most of the children's playground. Hermione had decided to build herself a huge sandcastle, using one of the big yellow buckets most appropriate for this activity. As she filled her bucket up, with the intention of turning it upside-down to make the main part of the castle, three boys had approached her, and before she knew what was happening, they had snatched the bucket from her, pushing her face first in to the sand pit. What happened next happened so fast, no one saw exactly what transpired. One moment, Hermione was spluttering while trying to pull herself out of the sandpit, the next, all the sand had flown out of the pit and landed on the three boys, making them choke and splutter as they fought to breathe through the sand that clogged their mouths and noses. No one had been able to explain how this had happened, although Hermione had received some odd looks from some of the other children. From that day onwards, they began to treat the little girl in their midst with a lot more respect than previously.

Hermione grinned at this memory. Stepping out of the shower, she donned a fluffy bathrobe with the Gryffindor lion emblazoned on one shoulder, whilst wandering over to her huge bedroom window. Pulling back the curtains, she gazed out at the Hogwarts grounds, laid out below her. Untouched snow covered the grounds as far as the eye could see, and the branches of the trees looked skeletal in their fragility. In the distance, a plume of smoke rose steadily from Hagrid's hut, which was just visible on the edge of the grounds. In the east, a pale sun was just starting to rise in a crystal clear sky, promising a cold crisp day. Hermione smiled, as she viewed this tranquil scene. An unreal feeling stole over her while gazing at the grounds, and she once again allowed her mind to wander at will.

Unbidden, her thoughts turned to the list of tasks she had promised herself to accomplish at the end of last term. One of these was to finally after over a years preparation, become an Animagus. This was an ambition she Ron and Harry had shared with no one, not even Professor McGonagall, as they intended to remain unregistered, and hopefully untraceable by Voldemort. Hermione was only too aware of Voldemort's hatred for muggle-born witches and wizards. She knew that as a very powerful witch, as well as being one of Harry Potter's best friends, she was one of his primary targets. Her worst nightmare was that he would kill her parents just to hurt her – something he was perfectly capable of doing.

Putting an end to this gloomy train of thought, she turned away from the window with its spectacular view, went over to the huge wardrobe and yanked it open. She looked at the plain black robes that she was required to wear as part of the school uniform with distaste. Long, with wide sleeves, they were comely and impractical. She promised herself that the day she left Hogwarts, would be the day she dispensed with such impossible clothing. Dressing quickly, she began to dry and comb her now long curly hair. On her mother's insistence, Hermione had allowed it to grow long, and to her surprise, found that its weight stopped it from being bushy and unmanageable. It now hung down to her waist in a cascade of chestnut curls, which regularly drew admiring glances from the male population of the school. Grinning at herself in the triple dressing-table mirror, she wondered if there were any charms which could put her hair up by magic, and mentally added this to her list of things to research in the library.

Ten minutes later, Hermione was ready. Picking up her bag and wand, she stepped out of the room, locked the door with a quick flick of her wand and went down the spiral stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Crossing to the portrait of the fat lady, she pushed it open, and went down to breakfast through the still quiet castle. Entering the great hall, she glanced up at the enchanted ceiling to see a weak sun shining down on the hall's occupants. She made her way over to the Gryffindor table and sat down beside Ginny, who was already halfway through her breakfast.

"Morning, Gin," Hermione greeted, pouring herself a large cup of black coffee to give her a kick-start to the day. Ginny turned and smiled at her.

"Mione, what are you doing up so early?" came the sleepy response.

"I could ask you the same question," Hermione smiled. "How were the holidays? I didn't see much of you last night."

"No, I was really busy unpacking. You know what it's like on your first day back. Yeah, the hols were fine. Well, as fine as they can be with Charlie home for Christmas. It was a full house and you can imagine the rest. Oh, by the way, thanks for your present - I really loved it."

"Well, I was hoping it might come in use - maybe at next term's Graduation Dance?" Hermione winked meaningfully at Ginny, causing her to go a bright shade of scarlet, just as Ron and Harry entered the hall. Waving, they made their way over to the girls and threw themselves down onto the seats opposite them.

"Morning you two. What are you discussing?" Ron asked, as he loaded his plate with toast, eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and sausages. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"Tell me something Ron," Hermione said, "Where exactly do you put all that food? I don't know anyone who eats as much at breakfast as you do – well, maybe Crab and Goyle – but they probably each eat as much as half of Gryffindor put together!"

"Excluding Ron that is!" Harry chipped in grinning.

"Excuse me!" Ron protested, through a mouthful of eggs and toast, "Is it 'Pick on Ron Day' today? Why's everyone being so horrid to poor old me? It isn't my problem if the rest of you aren't man enough to enjoy a hearty breakfast. As Mum says, I'm a growing man who needs his food, so stop picking on me just because you're jealous!"

"You sound just like my Aunt Petunia when you say that," teased Harry. "You should have heard her when Dudley had to go on that diet at the end of our third year, 'Dudley is a growing boy who needs plenty of food.'" All four burst out laughing at this.

Ron and Harry could be such comedians when they chose to. Hermione grinned at them. It was good to be back with her friends. It was strange, she mused, but Ron, Harry and Ginny were like brothers and sisters to her. She supposed living with them, and in Harry and Ron's case, having most of their classes together, helped deepen this bond of affection between them. She was probably closer to these three than to her own parents. It cost her a pang to admit this, but she had always been one to face up to things rather than bury them under layers of pretence.

"Hello, Earth to Hermione!" Harry's voice broke in to her musings, and at the same time, she noticed that Ron was waving his hand energetically a few inches in front of her nose, which was in danger of being sliced off.

"Sorry," she apologised, looking up into their faces. "What were you saying?"

"Never mind that, what were you thinking?" Ron's question caught Hermione off guard and she blinked confusedly up at him.

"What? Oh nothing. I was just wondering about today's classes and whether I'd completed all my homework." This remark was met with snorts of incredulity from both Ron and Harry, but Ginny fixed Hermione with a piercing look that said only too clearly. "Like hell! The rest of the world may believe you but I know you too well."

"So you two, have you done all your homework yet?" Hermione now asked Harry and Ron.

"Yup, finished the whole lot," Harry grimaced, "Even that horrid essay of Snape's. I swear he becomes more like an overgrown bat every day. He probably dreams up new ways of torturing us while in the bath."

"You mean Snape takes the time and effort to wash himself?" Ron asked incredulously.

Blocking out their voices, Hermione allowed her attention to wander around the hall, which was now full of students and staff. It was as her eyes roamed over the Slytherins, that her gaze encountered that of Draco Malfoy. There was something in his expression she could not put her finger on, which made her look more intently at him. His look was speculative, almost as though he was trying to decide what it was the small group had been laughing about. Because the usual emotions Malfoy displayed were contempt and hatred towards Ron Harry and herself, Hermione wondered at the change.

"What does Malfoy think he's looking at?" Ron suddenly asked, causing Hermione to swing round to stare at him. "You noticed it too, Hermione. What d'you think he's after? The nasty little ferret – I wouldn't put it past him to be thinking up some horrid scheme to get either Hagrid or us into trouble. The git."

Ron's words were drowned by the arrival of the post. A large barn owl fluttered down in front of Hermione's plate, clutching her copy of the Daily Prophet. Taking it from the owl, she opened it with a sinking feeling in her stomach. She dreaded opening the paper these days, because nine times out of ten, a picture of the Dark Mark would be splashed across the front page, and the paper would be full of news of the latest victims of Voldemort. But today there was nothing more exciting than the outcome of the national Confederation of Wizards conference.

"Is there anything in there about You Know Who?" Ginny's question was wary.

"No," Hermione smiled. "Here, take a look for yourself."

She handed Ginny the paper. Finishing her breakfast, she began gathering her things together. Ron glanced up from his breakfast to ask, "Where are you going? Don't tell me – not the bloody library. I swear you spend more time in that place than with us."

Hermione just smiled at him before getting up from the long Gryffindor table. "Bye Gin, have a good day, and I'll see you two in charms," she said, and turning swiftly, left the Great Hall. There was still half an hour until the start of her first lesson, Arithmancy, and she intended to use it in researching animagi, which would take up all the spare time she had. Going up the marble staircase towards the library, she thought of Sirius, Harry's godfather. A familiar pang of sadness engulfed her, and she shivered pulling her robes more tightly around her. It had now been over eighteen months since the night in the Department of Mysteries where Sirius had died, but she still missed him, and was well aware of the fact that Harry still blamed himself for Sirius's death. If Hermione had not been so engrossed in her own thoughts, she may have noticed the figure following her stealthily at a distance, taking care to keep in the shadows.

Sighing with relief, Hermione pushed open one of the heavy doors to the library and entered the silent room. The library was always empty at this time of day; meaning Hermione would not be disturbed in her search. Smiling at Madam Pince, the librarian, she made her way over to the transfiguration section and began searching the titles along the crowded shelves. She found nothing that would be of any use, and began wondering if the material she needed would be in the restricted section. The only way she could get a book out from the restricted section was to get a signed note from a teacher, giving her permission to make use of it. She decided to leave this for a while and went over to the section on charms. Almost immediately, she found what she wanted: 'Charms to Enhance Beauty' and 'Simple Ways To Creating a Stunning Effect'. She was just flicking through the former when the bell went, signalling the start of her first Arithmancy lesson. Quickly, she pushed both books into her already very heavy bag and set off. She didn't want Lavender or Parvati knowing about these books, or she would never hear the end of it.

The Arithmancy classroom was large and square. Taking her seat at the front, Hermione smiled at Professor Vector, a thin witch in her late sixties, with salt-and-pepper coloured hair. Around Hermione, the rest of the seats began filling up with tired looking students, all sporting glum expressions at the thought of the term ahead. The class consisted of five Ravenclaws, three Slytherins, three Hufflepuffs and Hermione.

A loud bang beside Hermione announced the arrival of Eloise Midgin, a tall, angular Ravenclaw with dark hair pulled back in a scraggy bun. She grinned good naturedly and gabbled, "Hermione, how are things? How were the hols? Did you get the Arithmancy equations old Vector set last term done? Don't you think my acne has cleared up? Doesn't my skin look much more clearer than before?"

"Yes, it does look clearer. What've you been using on it?"

Eloise grinned wickedly before saying, "It's this thing my mum got from the doctor. I don't know the name, but it is really doing wonders. Mum doesn't hold with all these potions and says muggle drugs are just as good, if not safer. I think I agree with her. I mean, that business at the start of our fourth year was pretty painful and I swear my nose still feels weird!"

Hermione had to smile at this. Eloise had the rare gift of being able to laugh at herself, and in the process, making others laugh as well.

At that moment, a tall blond-haired figure stalked in to the room, throwing a dirty look towards the two girls. In response, Hermione stuck two fingers up at him and then promptly turned her back on him.

"I don't believe you just did that," whispered a nervous looking Eloise. "You do realise that was Malfoy – I mean they are really powerful. If I were you, I wouldn't antagonise him – you never know what he'll do. They say that his family are on You Know Who's side, so it's best not to mess with them..."

Hermione turned to face the Ravenclaw, "Eloise, why should I be afraid of him? At the end of the day, he is just like you and me; an Avada Kedavra curse is just as likely to finish him as it is us. The only difference between him and us is the fact that he is an arrogant git, who thinks everyone else is beneath him, and we don't! I don't care if his family are on the Dark side – all the more reason to hate him I say." She was cut off as Professor Vector cleared her throat.

Two hours later, Hermione emerged from Arithmancy, smiling. This was her favourite subject at Hogwarts and one she was thinking of reading at university. Pushing her way through the crowded corridors, she arrived early in the charms classroom and was rewarded by a huge smile from Professor Flitwick.

Seizing the opportunity she asked, "Professor, I was wondering if you could help me. There's a book I need from the restricted section, 'Advanced Charms for the Advanced Student', but I need a permission note from you to get it out. I was thinking it wouldn't do any harm to do a bit of extra reading."

Professor Flitwick beamed at her, and grabbing a quill and a piece of parchment, he quickly scribbled the required note. At that moment, the rest of the class started trickling in to the room.

Grinning, Hermione thanked him before rushing to her usual spot with Harry and Ron at the back of the classroom and throwing herself down onto her seat. Looking up, she saw the two boys making their way over to her with scowls on their faces.

"Damn it," Ron hissed, "I just don't understand that essay McGonagall set us and we have to hand it in tomorrow –I'm doomed!"

"Well, if you didn't insist on leaving your homework until the last minute, you wouldn't be in such a fix now, would you?" Hermione began, but was interrupted by Professor Flitwick clearing his throat.

"Today, we'll be experimenting with the contraceptio charm. I thought that as you are all getting older, it is time this was taught you. I am sure it will come in handy to some of you and is very likely to come up in your NEWT's." His words were drowned by sniggers coming from all over the classroom. Everyone apart from Hermione was sniggering, looking extremely red faced, their gazes directed towards the tops of their desks.

"According to Madam Pomfrey," the tiny professor went on, "some people have attempted the charm with some rather disastrous results. Please open your books to page 323. I want you to practice on these dolls."

Clambering down from his pile of books, he went over to a cabinet from which he extracted a large box, which he then levitated onto his desk. "It is quite simple. You simply point your wand at the belly of the doll and say "Contraceptio". If the spell has worked, a bright purple light should engulf the doll's abdomen for a moment before disappearing. This charm will work for as long as is needed. I will teach you the counter-charm in the next lesson." He started handing out the dolls, and the students set to work practicing the charm.

Hermione raised her wand, pointed it at the doll's middle, and said, "Contraceptio!"

After a moment, a feeble purple light appeared at the end of her wand, and then reluctantly headed towards the doll, fading before it reached it. Hermione frowned. It was very unlike her to get this charm wrong, especially as having decided to do some extra reading over the holidays; she had already practiced the charm. She tried again, and this time, a brighter light appeared at the wand-tip, but it was not what she had aimed for. By now, Hermione was starting to get worried, how could this be happening when she had already practiced how to do the charm? Gritting her teeth, she concentrated very hard on the doll in front of her and once again said, "Contraceptio."

This time, a bright purple light shot out of the wand straight towards the doll's abdomen, which it then engulfed before disappearing. Leaning back in her chair, Hermione took in a few deep breaths to try and clear her head. She felt exhaustion creeping over her, but could not understand why. Maybe she was tired and had not got enough sleep the night before, although she doubted this. She knew the charm didn't take all that much concentration to perform, having done it before. It was strange, but she was getting the feeling that she and her wand had been at odds, and by getting it to perform the spell, she had been forcing it to work against its will. But how could this be? Wearily, she performed the charm a few more times for Professor Flitwick's benefit, and then to her immense relief, the bell went for lunch.

Hermione didn't know how she managed to get through the rest of the day, with the worry of her earlier performance in Charms lurking at the back of her mind. Finally, after two cold hours spent shivering in the greenhouses in Herbology, she headed to the place which would hopefully provide her with some answers – the library.

Entering the musty room, she quickly found the section she was looking for – Wands. Taking down a couple of large leather-bound books, she carried them over to her favourite table, which was situated between two large shelves with a big window facing it. Seating herself, she pulled the first of the books, 'Compatibility between Wands and their Owners', towards her and set to work perusing it. Right at the end of the book, she found what she was looking for:

'The amount of magic a wand is able to direct is dependent on a variety of factors: The wood from which it is made; the reluctance of the magical creature providing the core parts; the flexibility of the wand... When a witch or wizard buys a wand, compatibility is based on the person's magical energy flow, coupled with the amount of magical energy the wand is able to channel. When a person buys their first wand, wand-makers will take a set of Bridicate measurements, which give a rough indication of the person's magical potential. These are used as a means of guidance for the wand-maker, who will then get the person to try wands that match their magical power. In most cases, this power does not change, and the same wand will work for the duration of a person's lifetime. However, there are a few cases in which a witch or wizard may find they 'out-grow' their wand. This means their magical potential has increased, and the wand can no longer handle the extra magical flow. This causes the person to require much more concentration than usual for any kind of magic to be performed. This phenomenon is very rare and only occurs in witches or wizards who are very magically powerful. It is not known why this extra magical potential is awakened later on, but it is manifested during their magical education. It has been suggested, however, that these wizards and witches are unable to handle this extra magical power until they are older.'

Hermione sat back, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. Relief swept over her and she began to breathe more easily. She was thankful to find that the problem lay with her wand, rather than with her. Since the incident in Charms, she had been questioning her own magical abilities, wondering if her inability to cast the charm had something to do with the fact she was muggle-born. There were a few students, in Slytherin in particular, who saw heritage as being a determining factor in how magical a person was. Those people such as herself, who came from non-magic families, were viewed as second-rate citizens, with very little magical ability. Hating prejudice in any shape or form, Hermione had fought this stigma throughout her time at Hogwarts, working extra hard to prove both to herself and those around her, that being muggle-born did not mean she was less able to do magic, compared to those from all-magic families.

Pulling herself together, she pondered the problem in hand. The only way she could resolve this issue was to get a wand that was compatible with her. She had not forgotten the problems Ron had had in his second year, when his wand had broken due to an encounter with the Whomping Willow. She was not prepared to contemplate working with a wand that did not allow her to do her best, especially in her final year of NEWTS'. But how was she to get a compatible wand? The best wand shop in Europe, Ollivander's, was situated in Diagon Alley, a long way from Hogwarts. She knew that she would not be allowed out of school to go and buy it, and so this left only one alternative – going to Diagon Alley without permission. For Hermione, who hated breaking even the smallest of rules, this was a momentous choice to make, but one which she decided was worth running the risk of getting caught.


	3. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Thank you to those of you who took the time to review. I have now changed my settings so anyone can leave a review - this being my first attempt at Fanfiction, I didn't realise you couldn't leave reviews unless you were signed in. Please refer to the Prologue for the disclaimer.

Chapter Two

The sound of the bell startled Hermione and she jumped, causing an inkblot to appear on her neatly written notes. Around her, students were hastily packing up their notes and exiting the classroom for a well-earned break. Gathering up her notes, Hermione stuffed them into her bag, heading for the teeming corridor of students with Ron and Harry right behind her.

"You'd think," Ron grumbled, "that Transfiguration would get easier after seven years, but no, it's as hard as ever. Sometimes I wonder why I took it!"

"Yeah," agreed an equally dispirited Harry, "Transfiguration and Potions, why did we ever carry them on?"

"Oh come on," Hermione said pushing her way through the throng of students, "you know full well why you took both subjects so stop whining. After all, no one forced you to take them, now did they? You both know that Aura training requires you to take both subjects so stop moaning!"

Behind her back, Ron rolled his eyes at Harry and they both scowled. They reached the Great Hall as Hermione finished talking. Making their way over to the still fairly empty Gryffindor table, they sat down, helping themselves to Mexican bean curry and rice. Hermione began eating very fast, earning quizzical looks from both Ron and Harry.

"Er, are you trying to choke yourself?" Ron asked warily.

"No, I just want to do some stuff, and as I have a lot to get through, I need all the time I can get. You know, with all the homework we've got at the moment. Plus head girl duties." She explained distractedly.

"You don't mean you're going to work tonight?" Harry spluttered looking incredulous. "Hermione, it's Friday evening, give yourself a break and relax. God only knows we all deserve to do so. That Potions lesson was nothing less than torture today, so I think we are all in need of some serious relaxation."

This statement was met with a hearty nod from Ron, and a shrug from Hermione who finished with her meal, got to her feet and swung her bag onto her shoulder.

"I'll see you two later. If you want me, I'll probably be in my room." She left before either of the other two could object. Going out of the Great Hall, she crossed the entrance hall and went swiftly up the marble staircase and in the direction of Gryffindor tower. She wanted to be alone to start work on her latest and definitely forbidden project - making an invisibility potion. She had got the recipe from 'Best Invisibility Potions of the Age', and intended to start the lengthy process of making it that evening, when hopefully, she would not be disturbed.

Reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, she gave the password 'ant eggs', and entered the large comfortable circular room. Crossing it, she headed up the staircase to the girls' dormitories, and at last reached her own room. Screwing up all her remaining strength, she pointed her wand at the door, and undid the wards protecting the room. Going in, she kicked off her shoes before collapsing on the softness of her four-poster bed, which was draped in satin, with scarlet velvet hangings.

It had been a very long week, and Hermione was glad to have reached the end of it. At the start of the year, Hermione had been made head girl, thereby getting her own room and privacy. Although she sometimes missed the chatter of Lavender and Parvati, her fellow Gryffindors with whom she had shared a room for six years, it was lovely to have her own room in which she could do as she pleased. Stretching, she allowed her gaze to wander over the room, in all its red and gold glory. It was a large room, with a huge picture window dominating the wall beside her bed. Heavy red curtains fringed in gold hung at the window, blocking out any unwanted light. A huge marble fireplace gleamed opposite the bed, currently giving off a wonderfully relaxing heat. On the other side of the room stood a huge mahogany desk flanked by bookshelves. The large mahogany wardrobe and dressing table took up the last wall of the room, giving it an air of opulence and luxury that Hermione never failed to appreciate. The floor was covered with a thick Persian carpet, consisting of red and gold patterns. The bed itself was swathed in a red satin quilt, with small flowers picked out in gold thread. In the corner opposite the bed was a portrait of the Gryffindor lion, behind which was concealed a passageway, connecting her room to that of the head boy, Anthony Goldstein, and allowing easy access to each House's common room in case of emergencies.

Shutting her eyes, Hermione allowed the exhaustion she had been feeling to catch up with her, lulling her to sleep.

An hour and a half later, Hermione awoke from her nap, feeling slightly better. She lay on the bed, going over the last few weeks in her mind. It was now the end of the second week of the term, but it felt as though she had been in school forever. The problems Hermione had been experiencing with her wand had not gone away, and she was finding it harder and harder to maintain the ease with which she normally got through her lessons. She found Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts the hardest to get through, due to all the 'foolish wand-waving', as Snape had put it, that was required. The wand just did not want to seem to work, no matter what she did to encourage it. She had tried talking to Professor McGonagall about going to Diagon Alley to purchase another one, but the older witch had said that she would have to wait until she went home at Easter, as none of the teachers had the time to accompany her during the weekends. Hermione supposed that this had something to do with the Order of the Phoenix of which Professor Dumbledore was head, and did not like to press the point. This left her in the same position as before - she would just have to go to Diagon Alley alone, and ensure she was not caught.

It was for this reason that she had decided to brew an invisibility potion. After a lot of thinking, she had decided this would be a useful safety precaution, just in case she got into trouble in Diagon Alley. She had also decided not to tell Harry and Ron of her excursion, so borrowing Harry's invisibility cloak was out of the question. Naturally, both boys would want to accompany her, but as she well knew, they were very impulsive, and Harry especially ran a much higher risk of being recognised than she did.

Heaving herself off the bed, Hermione made her way over to the bookshelves, and taking down 'Best Invisible Potions of the Age', began leafing through it. There were a wide variety of invisibility potions to choose from, but most required the use of ingredients she could not obtain, unless she raided Snape's stores as she had done during her second year – an experience in which she had no wish to repeat. Besides, some of these took over two weeks to brew. She had therefore chosen to brew one of the simpler, but rarely used potions, one drop of which would allow her to be invisible for half an hour – enough time to get away, in case things didn't work out as planned. This potion, although requiring very few ingredients, was very hard to brew, due to the accuracy needed when measuring each ingredient. One slip or wrong measurement, and the potion would be rendered useless.

Swiftly, Hermione gathered the ingredients she would need, and dragged her cauldron into the bathroom. This room was large as well, and had a huge marble bathtub situated in one corner. Beside the bathtub was a large shower stall, facing a vanity mirror, sink and toilet. Each piece of the suite was fitted with gold fixtures. The middle of the bathroom was completely free of obstacles, and therefore, an ideal place in which to brew an illicit potion. Hermione set up a makeshift worktable beside the cauldron, on which she could chop and measure ingredients. She started by chopping some barley roots into long equally sized pieces. Putting these into the cauldron, she lit it with a flick of her reluctant wand, and set about adding the rest of the ingredients: whale bile, rat's intestines, beetle juice and a unicorn tail hair, all of which had to be measured into precise amounts or the potion would be worse than useless. Stirring the sludgy mixture in the cauldron clockwise, Hermione looked down at it with distaste. She would be required to drink this if an emergency arose, a thought that was not very appealing.

Finally, after two hours of backbreaking stirring, sifting, chopping and measuring, Hermione straightened up with the finished product sitting in the bottom of her cauldron. She was exhausted, but triumphant. Smiling, she squared her shoulders, before dipping a small spoon in to the mixture and ladling up a drop of the purple liquid. It was time to try the potion out. Opening her mouth, she let the drop of liquid fall from the spoon onto her tongue, and waited. Nothing happened. She began to wonder if she had done something wrong, and grabbed up the book to once again to read the instructions. The potion looked like the illustration in the book, so why was it not working?

Distractedly, she wandered back in to her bedroom. She went over to the dressing-table mirror, with the intention of doing something about her hair, which was currently clinging to her face and neck in sticky strands. Glancing in to the mirror, she had to stifle a scream, for there was no image looking back. She could see the reflection of the room, but not herself. Closing her eyes tight, she opened them again, willing herself to remain calm and then it struck her! She could not see her own reflection because she was invisible; the potion must have worked. With a yell of "Yes!" she danced around her room, grinning like a cat. She spent what was left of her remaining half-hour of invisibility cleaning up the bathroom, and bottling the potion. On second thoughts, she decided to add a drop of potion to each of some chocolates, residing in her cloak pocket. This way, she need only put a chocolate into her mouth to become invisible, rather than have to mess around with potion bottles, which could result in wasting valuable time.

Having finished cleaning up the bathroom, Hermione glanced in to the vanity mirror to see herself grinning back. Stripping off, she filled the large bath with hot water mixed with sandalwood bubble bath and sank in to its relaxing depths. Washing her long hair, she contemplated the next day's plans. It was a Hogsmeade weekend; therefore, the other students would be less likely to notice her absence. She would tell Ron and Harry that due to her workload, she could not come in to Hogsmeade with them. At the same time, she needed to ensure that Filch, the horrid caretaker, saw her leaving the castle, presumably to visit Hogsmeade. She would Apparate to Diagon Alley. She had passed her apparation test soon after she had turned seventeen at the start of her sixth year. So far, she had rarely needed to use this skill, but was now very glad she had learnt it.

Her mind drifted back over the last week or so, and she frowned as another of her worries surfaced in her brain. On the first day of term, she had caught Draco Malfoy looking towards their table at breakfast. Was it her imagination, or did she, Ron and Harry keep running into Malfoy in the most innocuous of places? This was not much to worry about on its own – after all, you could go wherever you wanted in the castle. But she had once overheard Malfoy asking one of the Gryffindor first years where the entrance to the Gryffindor common room was located, and that had worried her.

It had been exactly a week ago when Hermione and Ernie McMillan, a seventh year Hufflepuff prefect, took their turns for patrol duty. This involved walking around the corridors just before curfew, ensuring no students were out of their Houses. It was a dark night, with storm clouds obscuring the moon. The torches illuminating the corridors flickered, making the shadows look sinister in the semi-darkness. Hermione and Ernie had just finished their rounds and were preparing to head back to their respective common rooms, when the sound of low voices coming from the top of the marble staircase caught their attention.

Ascending the stairs, they heard an unmistakable drawling voice say, "So where is it? You surely aren't going to back out of our deal now are you? Remember our agreement – I'm asking you a simple question, and I expect an answer!"

Then a small voice answered, "Well, no, but you know that's supposed to be secret. Remember what Dumbledore said at the start of the year? Everyone else will kill me if they find out I've told you. Anyway, why do you want to know?"

Peering round a suit of armour standing conveniently at the top of the stairs, Hermione could make out the shadowy outlines of two figures standing a little further along the corridor. A shaft of torchlight lit up their faces, giving them an eerie glow. One figure was tall, with telltale silver blond hair and an arrogant bearing, while the other was small, with dark curly hair that fell in disarray over his forehead. Hermione recognised him as being a first year Gryffindor, whose name she could not remember.

Malfoy's voice now came back to her saying, "You agreed to tell me if I paid you, remember? Here is the money as we agreed, so it is time you delivered your end of the bargain. Where is the entrance to your common room?"

"Well, I'm having second thoughts, and I don't think it is any of your business where it is. You can keep your money, I'm off!"

"Oh no you don't! We have an agreement, and you will jolly well tell me what I want to know, even if it means I have to beat the information out of your puny body..."

At this point, Ernie stepped swiftly forward into the two protagonists' line of vision, with Hermione right behind him. "That's enough!" he interrupted. "Firstly, what are you both doing out of your houses at this time? And secondly, I might remind you Malfoy, that blackmail and threats are against the rules, and may cost you your prefect's badge!"

"What do you want?" Malfoy sneered, giving Ernie, who was as tall as him although not as well built, his trademark sneer, causing Ernie to step back on to Hermione's foot. She let out a yell of pain drawing the attention of the small group onto her. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Granger! What are you doing here? Oh I forgot, it's your duty is it not? Tell me, how can you bear being away from Potty and the Weasel?"

Hermione choked back her rage to answer, "Malfoy, we've just caught you blackmailing and threatening a student, so if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut, unless you want this bought to Professor McGonagall's attention! As things stand, this is the first time you've been caught doing this, so we'll say nothing. Now get back to your common room before I change my mind and pay a visit to professor McGonagall. As for you!" she said, turning to the boy standing beside Malfoy, "you can accompany me back to Gryffindor." Turning to Ernie, she said, "Well, good night, I'll see you around."

Malfoy stormed past them, giving them all a filthy look, but said nothing. Sweeping up the corridor, Hermione could hear the unfortunate younger boy following her at a trot. When she judged it to be safe, she rounded on him. "What an earth do you think you were doing agreeing to tell Malfoy where our common room entrance is? Do you know nothing about him? He isn't nice and I can't believe you agreed to this ludicrous bargain. You're not a Slytherin; so cunning is not one of your strong points. I can tell you for a fact, that Malfoy would've had no hesitation in beating you in to a pulp, if you had stalled any longer."

"Well, you don't understand!" he defended himself, "Malfoy's been asking me since the start of term. At first I just ignored him, but he kept cornering me when I was alone. Just to make things worse, my parents are acquainted with them, and my mother wrote to me saying that she thinks it a good idea if I went out of my way to be nice to him. So I thought if I was going to do this, I may as well do it on my own terms and get him to pay me for the information. When I told him this, hoping he'd refuse, he agreed instead, and said I could name my price as long as it was below ten galleons. I agreed and tonight he was to give me the money - ten galleons in exchange for the information. But when it came to it, something stopped me from telling him. I don't like him and his ways, but desperately needed the money to help pay for things at home. I see now that I was very wrong to agree to giving him the information and can promise you it won't happen again." He looked down at his feet as he finished speaking.

"I won't say that what you did wasn't wrong, but this time I'll let you off. I believe you when you say you won't do it again, but'll be keeping an eye on you all the same. Tell me, did he say why he wanted to know where the entrance to our common room is?" Hermione asked.

"He refused to tell me, saying it was no concern of mine. He did seem very determined to find out, but why? I don't know!"

"Well, don't let it worry you. Now off to bed and remember, if any of the Slytherins or anyone from another House approaches you asking where our common room is, or some other such dubious questions, don't tell them. These are hard times and we can not be too careful in whom we place our trust."

By this time, they had reached the Fat Lady's portrait. Giving the password, Hermione had ushered the boy in before her and proceeded straight to her room. It was only later that she had remembered the boy's name, David Wendum. The Wendums were an old pureblood family who, like the Weasleys, were not very well off.

Hermione was pulled from her musings in the water by a scratching at her bedroom door. Clambering out of the bath, she wrapped herself in her bathrobe, padded over to open the Door, allowing her cat Crookshanks into the room. Sitting down on the bed, she pulled Crookshanks on to her lap, idly stroking his fur. Her thoughts were in a jumbled mess; why did Draco Malfoy want to know where the Gryffindor common room was? Whatever the reason, she had the feeling that his intentions were not honourable. She had alerted all the Gryffindor prefects the day after the incident in the corridor, so everyone was aware of what he was trying to do. But this did not make Hermione feel any better. She had the niggling suspicion that Malfoy's plans had something to do with Harry, Ron and herself, but could not pinpoint the reason for this. She knew that there were only four ways into the Gryffindor common room; from Professor McGonagall's private rooms, through the portrait hole guarded by the Fat Lady, the emergency exit which only allowed the students to leave the room and could therefore not be used as an entrance, and the prefect's entrance. The latter was the one that he could have access to, but as it was guarded by another portrait of the Gryffindor lion that was notoriously stubborn, she doubted that he would think of using this route. The lion hated letting anyone apart from Gryffindor prefects into the room and had a positive aversion to Slytherins, whom it did not trust one bit.

Hermione was reminded of an altercation at the start of the year, when a Slytherin Fifth year prefect had needed to get in to the Gryffindor common room to fetch a student for Professor Dumbledore. The lion had refused to let the girl in, maintaining that she was "Slytherin filth who was not to be trusted". In the end, the girl had been forced to traipse round the school, looking for a Gryffindor prefect to carry out Professor Dumbledore's instructions.

Grinning at the memory, Hermione put Crookshanks on to her bed, changed from her bathrobe into comfortable pyjamas, and donned a cotton robe over them. As she picked up her hair brush with the intention of combing out her wet hair, a loud and peremptory knock sounded on her door.

"Mione, we know you're in there, so let us in!" Ron's voice could be heard loudly declaring. "We've bought you some nice stuff, as you didn't eat much for dinner, so unless you want me to eat this cream cake, which looks particularly tempting, we suggest you open up before it's gone."

"I'm coming," Hermione put down the brush and hurried over to the door, pulling it wide open.

Harry and Ron stood grinning on the threshold, their arms loaded with food.

"We thought we'd come and rescue you from your books," said Harry, stepping around her into the room.

"Hang on!" Ron frowned following Harry in and glancing around. "I thought you said you were going to do some work. You look as though you have just come out of the bath. What's in that bottle?" he pointed to the bottle containing the remainder of the invisibility potion, sitting on the desk. "If we'd known you weren't going to work, we would've taken you down to the kitchen with us, so you could meet the house-elves." This pronouncement was accompanied with a wicked grin from Ron, who still teased Hermione about her S.P.E.W Campaign that she had tried to carry out in their fourth and fifth years, but which had been firmly rebuffed by the Hogwarts house-elves, apart from Dobby.

"Oh by the way, Dobby and Winky say Hello. They asked where "the young miss" was and seemed disappointed not to see you. Well we may as well get started on this lot!" Harry grinned indicating the mound of cakes now residing on Hermione's bedside table.

Relieved that Ron's attention had been distracted from the bottle of invisibility potion, Hermione started combing out her hair and leaving it to dry naturally. She went over and sat down beside Harry on the bed. Ron was reclining on the pillows, already half way through a chocolate éclair. Glancing down, Hermione noticed an envelope lying beside Ron.

"Ron, I think you've dropped something," she began but was interrupted by another knock on the door. Getting up, she went to open it, to find Ginny standing outside.

"Can I come in?" she asked, smiling.

"No!" Ron shouted through a mouthful of pastry, cream and chocolate.

"Yes, of course you can," Hermione said, ushering Ginny into the room and closing the door. "Come and join us, there's more than enough food, help yourself."

"We were trying to eat in peace," Ron objected, eyeing Ginny suspiciously. "We didn't want to be disturbed, so why don't you run along and play, now there's a good girl!"

"Shut up Ron," Ginny snapped. "I actually came for a reason. I've just received a letter from mum in which she tells me that Aunt Emma has had another baby, who was born with Kurbs-blood. She wrote to you as well, but I don't suppose you've opened yours, have you?"

Ron flushed and picked up the envelope Hermione had spotted lying beside him. Opening it, he scanned the letter, before sighing deeply and folding it.

"Merlin, I didn't realise," he muttered. "That was her third kid, and all of them were born with Kurbs-blood. That disease is a killer, and according to Mum, is on the increase. The strange thing is, only all wizarding families seem to be effected by it, and people can't understand why."

"I think I once read an article about it - something to do with the fact that there's a lot of inter-marriage between people from all wizarding families, and Kurbs-blood is a result of some genetic defect that happens when one, excuse the term, "pureblood" marries another," Hermione explained thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but how?" Ron looked perplexed. "Mum says that it's affected every wizarding family we know of, at some point or another. The medi-witch with mum when Percy was born thought that Percy had it and had to slap him quite a few times before the git decided to breathe. I sometimes think that she probably slapped all the humour and life out of him!"

"That isn't funny Ron!" Hermione chided. "I think that at heart, Percy cares very deeply for all his family. Remember when he saw you in the lake during the second task of the Triwizard tournament? He nearly went berserk with worry! He didn't think twice about jumping into rescue you then, now did he?"

"No, but remember our fifth year, and what he did then? I for one've never forgiven him for that betrayal, even if he did come crawling back last year, all apologies!" Ron gave a derisive snort, before biting in to another cake.

Hermione thought back to their fifth year, when Percy had publicly renounced his family in favour of keeping on good terms with Fudge and the Ministry of Magic. At the time the Weasleys' had cut all ties with him and had only accepted him back into the family once he had apologised and even that had only been forthcoming after Voldemort's return to the wizarding world had been publicly announced by Fudge.

Ron's voice snapped her attention back to him, "You know, I don't think mum and dad have truly forgiven him either; oh they are nice to him on the surface but they don't trust him – who would, the git! Anyway, why are we talking about Percy? I'm sure we can think of more interesting things to discuss! Have you heard anything more about why Malfoy wanted to find the Gryffindor Common room?"

"No, I told all the prefects to be watchful, but it seems he has decided to leave the matter alone."

"The day that Malfoy leaves anything alone just because you tell him to will be the day Snape decides to be nice to us in Potions! You know, I'm surprised Malfoy didn't get the position of head boy this year – I mean we know he always wanted it…" Harry started but was cut off with a snigger from Ron.

"Well, Dumbledore obviously didn't want to give it to him – Lucius Malfoy may've bought his way out of prison, but no amount of gold would ever persuade Dumbledore to do anything he didn't feel was right," Ron explained, grinning.

"Yeah, maybe so, but it is still odd though," Harry mused.

"Not really," Ginny put in, "Anthony and Hermione work well together and both have clean records as well. The whole point of the head boy and girl is to act as role models for the rest of the school. Dumbledore wouldn't want students copying Malfoy's tendencies now, would he?"

"He must've had a real fight on his hands when Lucius found out his golden boy wasn't going to get the position of head boy! The day the Malfoys'll take what Dumbledore says lying down will be the day that Voldemort stops torturing Muggles as sport!"

This statement from Harry was met with a shudder from Ron, who complained, "Can't you say 'You Know Who?' I hate his name being mentioned."

"No, I won't!" Harry retorted emphatically. "As Professor Dumbledore once said, fear of a name increases fear of the actual thing! Anyway," he said, trying to steer the subject onto safer ground, "When shall we leave for Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

Hermione looked up at this and explained, "I don't think I can go to Hogsmeade after all. I desperately need to do some work and before you say anything Ron, I've been feeling pretty tired this week, so I've fallen behind. If you don't mind, I will give you a list of things I would like from Honeydukes in case I can't make it to get them myself."

"You know, if I didn't know you so well Hermione, I'd say you were trying to hide something from us. You always seem tired these days, and remember that day when you fell asleep in the common room? You're not coming down with something are you?" Harry looked worried, causing a pang of guilt to shoot through Hermione for deliberately lying to him.

"No, I'm just a bit tired. I didn't rest enough during the holidays, and came back to school feeling drained. I want a lie-in tomorrow to try and catch up on my sleep before we get too much extra work. I don't want to end up like I did in our third year."

"No, I suppose not." Harry muttered. No more was said on the subject, as Ginny knew nothing of the time-turner Hermione had been required to use to get to all her classes during the trio's third year.

The evening was growing late, and all around them the sounds of people going to their dormitories could be heard. "Well, you'd better be off," Hermione said getting off her bed, watching while the other three wished her good night and left, leaving her alone. She smiled in relief – the first part of her plan had succeeded.

She started to prepare for bed, hoping for a long night's sleep. She would need all her wits about her the next day, as she was probably going to break more rules in a few hours than Harry and Ron had throughout the whole of their time at Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter 3

Authors Note: Please Review, and let me know what you think of this chapter, it's a very significant chapter, and I would like to know if you think Lucius has behaved in character or not. Also, does the thing about the Lestintias make sense to you, as it is going to play a major part in the story as a whole. As ever, any other comments and suggestions are welcome!

Chapter Three

Sunlight streamed in through the gap in the curtains, falling in a wide strip across the large four-poster bed. Blinking dazedly, Hermione rolled over to squint blearily at the time on her alarm clock. It was 8 am, not yet time for her to get up. Relaxing back in to the warmth of the feather mattress, she snuggled against Crookshanks' sleeping form, lying sprawled out beside her. It was not often that Crookshanks chose to spend the night with her, preferring instead to hunt rats and mice that may be lurking about in the dungeons or grounds.

The silence engulfed Hermione, making her feel as though she were the only person alive. No doubt the rest of Gryffindor tower was still fast a sleep, and would remain so for the better part of the next two hours. Smiling lazily, she pushed back the covers and hoisted herself out of the warmth of the bed. The room was pleasantly warm, with a crackling log fire roaring in the grate. Stripping off her nightclothes, Hermione showered quickly, pulled on her fluffy bathrobe, and went to the window to look out. Pulling back the heavy curtains, she looked down at the grounds sprawled out below her. A black speck was just visible sitting in the branches of the nearest tree, while a few birds flittered in and out of the trees, taking care to avoid the sharp-eyed creature watching them intently. She recognised the black speck as a cat belonging to Millicent Bulstrode, a Slytherin in Hermione's year, with whom Hermione had very little in common. She wondered if the cat had a personality to match that of its owner; she fervently hoped not as it looked quite nice.

Reluctantly turning away from the window, Hermione focused her thoughts on the day ahead, and on to the task she was determined to carry out. Going over to the wardrobe, she pulled it open and stared thoughtfully at its contents. Being a Saturday, the students were not required to wear the customary, and in Hermione's opinion, rather ugly, black robes that made up the Hogwarts uniform. Pulling out a pair of faded jeans and jumper, she dressed quickly and then secured her hair at the nape of her neck by a plain black clip. She intended changing later into more formal attire for her outing. Thrusting her feet in to a pair of trainers, she grabbed up her wand and left her room. Hurrying down the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor common room, she was just about to cross it, when a voice from the shadows stopped her.

"Mione, where are you going in such a hurry?"

Jumping slightly, Hermione turned to see Ginny curled up on one of the window seats, watching her. "Ginny, what are you doing here? I didn't think anyone was awake.

"I wanted to talk to you, as you seem to have avoided me since the start of term. Besides, I wasn't tired and thought I'd get up" Uncurling herself, Ginny too, crossed to the portrait hole where Hermione was standing. "Come on, let's go down to breakfast. There's no one else around so you can tell me what's bothering you, and don't deny it, there is definitely something on your mind!"

"Well, yeah there is, but I don't particularly want to talk about it." Hermione trailed off at the expression on Ginny's face. It vividly reminded her of an expression Mrs. Weasley often assumed while grilling Fred and George about a forbidden prank.

The two girls had known each other since Hermione's second year at Hogwarts. Over the years, they had become close friends and normally spent quite a lot of time together. Ginny, Hermione knew, was one of the few people who could see past her mask of efficiency, and the girls had built a friendship based on mutual liking and trust. Due to her constant tiredness, Hermione hadn't socialised much over the past few weeks, spending any spare time she had trying to catch up on her sleep, or practicing charms and spells to try and help her through lessons.

"What I mean is, this is something you can't really help me with, and the less people that know about it, the better it is." Hermione was of course referring to the problem of her wand.

"Knowing you, I doubt there's anyone apart from yourself who does know, so letting me in on the secret won't endanger it," Ginny's voice held a note of acidity that Hermione could not fail to notice.

"OK then, but don't judge or condemn me until you have heard me out."

The two girls made their way down through the castle, into the still deserted Great Hall. A few students could be seen dotted here and there, along the four House tables, all of them looking pale and heavy-eyed. Sitting down at the Gryffindor table, the two started eating.

In a low voice that would not carry to anyone passing, Hermione began to tell Ginny of the problems she was experiencing with her wand, and her subsequent decision. Once she had finished speaking, there was a slight pause as Ginny digested all that Hermione had told her.

Finally, she said in such a quiet voice that Hermione had to lean closer to her, in order to catch the words, "I remember Dad saying something once about a witch or wizard growing out of their wand. At the time, I didn't give it much thought. You know what Dad's like – he is always giving tip bits of information at the most inappropriate times, and after a while you just, well, ignore him. But he did mention that it was something about the person being really powerfully magical. Apparently, such people are rare, and often possess a gift of some sort, which only manifests itself when the person's full power is unleashed. Dad said that there's very little known about this as it is so rare, so I don't even think it has been researched much."

Deciding not to pursue the latter part of Ginny's explanation, Hermione asked, "What do you mean a gift? What kind of gift? Is it good or…?" she felt slightly breathless as she voiced this question. She had been aware from her reading that she had out grown her wand, but had not imagined the consequences of this, apart from the inconvenience of having to buy a new wand.

Ginny's brow was furrowed in thought, and after a short pause, she said hesitantly, "That's just it, you don't know what the gift is. The last person to have outgrown their wand developed the gift of reading minds or something of that description. Oh I wish I had paid attention when Dad was talking about it."

"I think the first thing to do is to get myself a compatible wand. Once I have that, maybe things will become a bit clearer," Hermione was aware her voice held a lot more conviction than she felt. "I'm going to get changed now. If Ron or Harry ask you, you saw me and I said I would probably be in Snape's lab finishing up an experiment. Hopefully their disdain for Snape will prevent them from going there to look for me. I'll leave once everyone has left for Hogsmeade. Luckily my window faces the front of the castle, so I can keep an eye on things. It's important that Filch sees me leaving, but that Harry and Ron don't!"

Ginny frowned worriedly at Hermione. "Well, I'm not sure what you're doing is the right thing, but as you say, under the circumstances you have no other choice. Just remember to be back by five this evening, as that's when they expect us to be back from Hogsmeade. As you can't Apparate from Hogwarts or the grounds, the nearest place would be somewhere on the road outside, or the Forbidden Forest. There is a good clump of trees on the Hogsmeade road, which you can use as a cover when you Apparate. If I were you, I would Apparate into the ladies' toilets in the Leaky Cauldron, and go to Diagon Alley from there. Just make sure you're not caught or McGonagall will have your hide!" she gave an encouraging smile, as she went on, "Good luck, and don't do anything rash, or take any unnecessary risks."

"I didn't know you could Apparate into the ladies' toilets; there are anti-apparation wards on the whole of Diagon Alley, including the Leaky Cauldron, remember? It was all over the Daily Prophet last year! Anyway, what if someone sees me appearing from thin air in the toilets? I had planned to Apparate outside the Leaky Cauldron and go in that way." Hermione frowned in thought.

"Well," Ginny said lowering her voice to barely a murmur, "I think you're taking more of a risk Apparating amidst the muggles. Also you won't be protected there. There are Aurors all over Diagon Alley and in the Leaky Cauldron all the time, and as you're going to be alone, I think it's better to Apparate directly into a safe zone, if you can. Fred and George found a weak spot in the wards, and it's in the ladies' so I'd make use of it if I were you, just don't get caught! I doubt you'll run into any of the teachers, as they'll be patrolling Hogsmeade today, with all the students being out."

Ginny's suggestion made more sense than Hermione's original plan. It was less of a risk Apparating into the ladies' toilets, where even if someone did see her, it being a Saturday, they would probably not take much notice being too occupied with their own affairs. Apparating onto the pavement outside the Leaky Cauldron would be more risky, as this was not wizard territory as such. Besides, she thought, there would be more people about, both muggle and wizard, some of whom may not be too nice.

Smiling gratefully at her friend, Hermione finished her coffee, got up from the table and left the Great Hall. Reaching Gryffindor tower, she gave the password to the Fat Lady, and climbed into the room, just as Ron and Harry reached the bottom of the boys' staircase.

Smiling at them, she swiftly crossed the room, telling them over her shoulder that she would probably see them later, as she planned to do some potions research in Snape's Dungeon. Before either could reply, she had disappeared through the door, up the girls' staircase and entered her own room.

Going over to the wardrobe, she opened it, riffling through its contents. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, as she wondered what to wear. As she wanted to blend in, she thought robes would be best even though a lot of young people wore muggle clothes now days. She pulled out a set of robes Lavender and Parvati had given her on her last birthday. Made of soft cream wool with black edging, they were deceptively simple in design, although very well cut. Parvati had convinced Hermione that they were the height of fashion, as they were a 'Madam Tooley' creation. Madam Tooley was an exclusive designer of witches' attire.

Hermione fingered the soft fabric and once again wondered uneasily how much they had cost. Her friendship with Parvati and Lavender had not been a particularly close one, as Hermione preferring to spend most of her free time with Ron and Harry, had not made much of an effort to get to know them. However, over the last year, since she had acquired a room of her own, things had got better. She now spent more time with them, and in turn, they had tried to include her in their 'girly evenings', which Hermione had found to be quite interesting, and often useful. When they have given her the robes, they had told her they were a thank you, as well as a birthday present, for always helping them with work, even when she had very little time to spare. She had been deeply touched at this gesture of unexpected kindness, although so far she'd had no occasion to wear the robes.

Dressing swiftly, Hermione pulled her hair back in to an elegant knot, and to make herself appear older, applied a little eye make-up, a hint of blusher, and some lipstick. She completed her toilette by pulling on a pair of black leather boots with a three inch heel over her thick tights.

Once she was ready, she went into the bathroom to have a good look at the end result of her labours in the full-length mirror. Before her, stood a simply clad young woman, in robes, which, although not flamboyant as wizarding robes tended to be, were undeniably elegant in their simplicity. They hugged her curvaceous figure in all the right places, accentuating the slenderness of her body. The extra few inches provided by the boots as well as the light make-up appeared to give her a poise and confidence she was far from feeling. Not normally one to bother too much with her appearance apart from the basics, Hermione frowned at the stranger looking back at her, hoping she looked the part she intended to play.

She went back over to the wardrobe and took out a stylish black wool cloak, lined with fur. This had been a birthday present from her parents a year ago, and something she treasured. Picking up the handful of chocolates she had prepared the day before, she dropped them into the capacious pockets of the cloak hoping she wouldn't have to resort to using them.

Taking her purse out of the dressing-table drawer, she made sure she had enough money for a new wand. Her parents were always generous in the amount of money they gave her each year, and on her last birthday, most of her family, not knowing what else to buy her, had given her money. She had opened an account with Gringott's Wizarding Bank, into which she had deposited the extra money. Stowing her purse in to her pocket, she made a mental note to visit Gringott's to get some money out for books. She thought that as she was going to Diagon Alley anyway, she may as well buy some more potion ingredients, her stock having been dramatically depleted once she had made the invisibility potion, and pay a visit to Flourish & Blotts, the fascinating book shop. Once she had done her shopping, she would simply shrink the parcels and put them into her pocket.

Picking up her dysfunctional wand, she crossed to the window. Below her, she could just make out the silhouettes of students coming out of the castle in small groups. No doubt, Filch, the grumpy caretaker, was standing in the entrance hall with his usual sour expression, ticking the students off his list as they left. She watched for about five minutes, before she saw what she was looking for. Two figures were just leaving the castle, one was almost six foot tall with bright red hair, while the other figure was not so tall, and sporting an untidy mop of black hair: It was Ron and Harry. Turning away from the window, she pulled on her cloak, left her room, went down the staircase out of Gryffindor tower, and down to the entrance hall, where now only a few people were left. Skulking out of sight behind a pillar, she waited until the last of the students had exited the hall and then approached the entrance herself. She was met by a glare from Filch, who after scowling at her, reluctantly ticked off her name on his list, before shambling away, muttering to himself. Relieved he had not stopped her, Hermione made her way down the castle steps, into the grounds.

Pulling the hood of her cloak, as far as it would go over her face, she made for the huge gates, which were standing open. As an extra precaution, she made sure to keep in the shadow of the trees, just in case any students were looking back towards the castle. Passing through the gates, she began walking quickly down the road. Ahead of her, she could just make out a few students walking along, their laughter echoing on the chilly breeze. Hermione focused her attention on the side of the road, looking for the trees Ginny had mentioned at breakfast. After about five minutes of brisk walking, she caught sight of a clump of oak and birch trees and made straight for them. Pushing her way between the narrow tree trunks, she stood in a small clearing in the centre of the clump, which allowed room for only two people to stand. Glancing around at her surroundings, she closed her eyes, picturing the interior of the ladies' toilets situated on the ground floor of the Leaky Cauldron, and Disapparated with a faint pop.

XoXoXoXo

Bracing herself, Hermione opened her eyes to find her reflection glaring back at her from a mirror, situated above one of the sinks in the bathroom, in which she was now standing. Glancing around, she was relieved to see the room was empty. Putting on a grim smile, she turned and swept out of the ladies' toilets, into the main part of the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was crowded with witches and wizards, all talking in loud voices, while nursing drinks. She could see Tom, the landlord, leaning over the bar, laughing at something an old ginger bearded wizard was telling him. Taking care not to catch anyone's eye, Hermione made her way to the back of the pub, out of a small door and into the dusty yard. Going over to the dustbins piled high with rubbish, Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the brick third from the left and two up from the bins. For a moment, nothing happened; then the brick wriggled in the middle, making a small hole that grew larger and larger, until it had formed an immense archway.

Stepping through it, Hermione found herself on the long narrow cobbled street that was Diagon Alley. She didn't wait to see the archway close - something she loved to do, but walked swiftly along the street trying hard not to bump into mothers with young children, or older children chasing ever-bashing boomerangs or fanged Frisbees. The street was packed with people doing their Saturday shopping, all jostling each other to try and get to their destinations that bit quicker.

Wending her way carefully down the crowded street, she made her sluggish way to the opposite end, to where she could see a faded sign proclaiming: 'Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC', swinging in the cold breeze above a shop, the paintwork of which was peeling.

Sighing in relief, Hermione, after having been poked, pushed and shoved unceremoniously along, finally reached her destination. Ducking out of the slowly moving stream of people, she pushed open the door of the shop, and went in. At first, she could see nothing, as the interior of the shop was very dim. Gradually however, her eyes became accustomed to the change in light, and she was able to look round the dingy little shop. To her relief, she found she was quite alone. She supposed that as most people rarely needed to buy new wands, this shop was probably empty a lot of the time, apart from the holidays, when new first years about to start at Hogwarts would need wands. A faded cushion sat in the window with a fragile looking wand displayed on it. It looked as though one good tug would snap it in half. The walls of the shop were lined with thousands and thousands of long thin boxes stacked neatly on shelves. Seating herself on the only chair, Hermione wondered what she was going to say to Mr. Ollivander. Hopefully, he would not make too much of a fuss, and she would find the right wand and be off.

She had plans to visit a few other stores in Diagon Alley, and wanted to be back at Hogwarts before anyone put two and two together with regards to her whereabouts. She looked at her wand, thinking that although apart from the problems she had been experiencing recently, which, if she was correct, were not its fault, it had never let her down in the whole of her time at Hogwarts. As a result, she had become rather attached to it and was not a little sorry to have to transfer to another.

She was pulled out of her reverie by a quiet voice saying, "Good Morning. Miss Granger, isn't it?" Glancing round, Hermione saw Mr. Ollivander himself leaning on the counter, running along the back of the shop. A very thin man, Mr. Ollivander gave one the impression he could see into your soul, without even having to try. His huge pale eyes, which never seemed to blink, seemed to look beyond the exterior of you, into places you never even knew you possessed.

Trying not to look into those ghost-like eyes, Hermione got to her feet and was about to open her mouth to explain what she wanted, but Mr. Ollivander beat her to it.

"Yes, yes, I remember as though it were yesterday: nine and a half inches, Vine containing a heartstring from a Swedish Short-snout. Good wand that one, and very good for transfiguration! Yes, I remember it well! No doubt, you have outgrown that particular wand, and are requiring something which is more suited to your talents!"

"Yes, it's not working as it should be, so I thought I'd come and maybe get a new wand. As there seems to be nothing physically wrong with it, I can only assume that something within me has changed." She explained nervously.

At these words, Mr. Ollivander, leaned over, and plucked the wand from Hermione's unresisting fingers, studying it closely.

"You are indeed right, there is nothing wrong with the wand but alas, it will not work for another witch or wizard. Wands, Miss Granger, are highly individual magical objects; each chooses the witch or wizard with whom it wishes to spend its lifetime. This one does not function because it is unable to channel the amount of magic you give off effectively. It's a shame, but alas, it can't be helped. Oh well, hold out your wand hand."

Relieved, Hermione put out a right arm, and a tape measure with strange markings along its length jumped out of Mr. Ollivander's pocket, and began to measure Hermione as though she were a dummy displayed in a dressmakers' window.

It was only as the tape measure attempted to measure the width of the back of her knee that Mr. Ollivander said, "That will do," and immediately, the tape measure crumpled up in to a heap on the dusty floor.

Mr. Ollivander, meanwhile, was pulling boxes off the shelves, apparently at random, and placing them onto the counter. "Here, try this one: ten inches, mahogany and dragon heartstring, rather bendy."

Hermione took the wand, waving it energetically above her head.

Snatching it from her, he handed her another one, "No, this one: sycamore and phoenix feather, nine inches, very supple!"

Taking the wand, Hermione waved it about but nothing happened.

"No, no, this one: Pine and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, whippy." This too was snatched back before she could so much as raise it in to the air.

An hour later, Hermione felt as though she had tried every wand in the shop. Her arm hurt from being waved about so much, and she was beginning to feel desperate. In front of her, tried wands and their boxes lay on the counter as Mr. Ollivander pulled down still more boxes.

Straightening up from a shelf, he turned to look at Hermione before saying, "I wonder… it is possible, but well..." He frowned before shrugging in a resigned way. He bent down and pulled a very dusty-looking box from beneath the shelves. Placing it on the counter, he opened the lid, lifting out a wand. As far as Hermione could make out, it looked like any other wand and yet, there was something different about it. She could almost taste the power surrounding it.

Wordlessly, Mr. Ollivander handed the wand to Hermione, and as soon as he did so, she felt a familiar warm tingling sensation shoot up her arm. Raising the wand in to the air, she pointed it at the stack of discarded wands and boxes lying on the counter. A pale blue light erupted from the wand tip, causing the wands to slide back into their respective boxes, which then flew back to their previous positions on the shelves, lining the walls of the shop.

Grinning, Hermione lowered her wand, turning to Mr. Ollivander. To her surprise, he was not smiling. "How did you do that?" His question was ominously quiet.

"I don't really know, I just thought that you'd probably find it useful, if all those wands were put back into their boxes, so I just pointed the wand at them and well, it just sort of got on with it. I didn't use any charms or anything, at least not that I know of."

"That wand is very old as you can probably tell." He explained soberly, "It is nine and a half inches long, teak, with a combined core of dragon heartstring and unicorn hair. I remember making it over 166 years ago. I was experimenting, to see what would happen, if two powerfully magical substances were combined, as in the core of this wand. I found that apart from me, the wand refused to work, and in some cases, burned the witches and wizards handling it. It is a powerfully magical wand, which has the aptitude to perform complex dark and light magic! I remember vowing never to sell it, as its owner may have a propensity for the dark arts, and in the wrong hands, it could well, not much would be left of this world if…" His voice faded away in to nothing leaving behind it, a stunned silence.

Hermione tried to pull herself together and focus on the wand, still clutched tightly in her hand. "Well, I'm not into the dark arts and may God help me, never will be. You needn't have any fear on that score! As for the wand, if you had no plans to sell it, why let me try it? As you can see, we are obviously compatible." She tried not to sound shocked and defensive as she spoke.

"You have tried all my most powerful wands, so I really didn't have a choice in the matter. For as long as I have been making wands, not one person has gone out of my shop not having found a suitable match, so I resorted to this wand as a last measure. But that is not what is worrying me," Mr. Ollivander said, taking the wand back from Hermione. "There are spells wand makers can use to determine which type of person will suit which wand. Bridicate measurements determine a person's magical ability, and I try to match wand and owner accordingly. Of course, it is the wand that has the final say in the matter, but the measurements give me a good idea of the person's type and amount of magic. I won't go into the details, but when working out the Bridicates for this wand, I wondered if I had made a mistake, in putting two cores together, as there are few people magical enough to attempt operating this wand. From that day onwards, I never combined two magical substances within a wand, as the result was too powerful. It requires a person to be a Lestintia - someone powerful enough to block the Avada Kedavra curse for up to ten seconds. Such people do exist, although the last was Grindelwald himself. The theory is that, in the time it takes for the person's magic to hold off the curse, they can put up a magical shield to protect themselves - hence Albus Dumbledore had so many problems when getting rid of Grindelwald." His voice was very quiet as he spoke although his eyes roamed continuously over Hermione's stunned face.

"What do you mean? I've read about such people, all of who to my knowledge have been dark. There was Catton in 1066, Learthorn in 1257, Iddock in 1598, and a few more who I can't remember off the top of my head. As you say, the last was Grindelwald, but why me? I hate the dark arts and everything to do with them, I always have done!" Hermione gabbled in a trembling voice. She was trying hard not to panic, and could feel hysteria rising in the back of her throat.

"Just because all documented Lestintias have dabbled in the dark arts so far, it does not mean that one can exist who is not dark." Mr Ollivander retorted, "You must learn to use this power effectively and who knows." He shrugged before turning away to write something in a book, lying on the counter. "That will be ten galleons, please." He said not looking up from his writing.

Numbly, Hermione pulled out her purse, counted out the correct amount and exchanged it for her wand, which she pocketed.

Then in a small voice she asked, "Please excuse me, but how does all this work? What I mean is, how am I able to hold off the curse? I mean before the age of eleven, I knew nothing about magic and it was only when I got my Hogwarts letter that I found out I was a witch. How can I be so powerful?"

"Well, I don't know the answer to your last question but will tell you what I know." He turned once more to look at her smiling as though to reassure her. "The Avada Kedavra curse is basically an explosion of undisciplined magical energy, which when it hits its target, destroys the mechanisms of the brain, which are unable to cope with the impact of such an explosion of energy. Your own brand of magic is unique as is everyone's, but in your case, I suspect there is more than one strain of magic at work. Each person normally only has the one strain, or type, of magic in them. There are a wide variety of types of magic, and different wand cores are better adapted to suit certain types of magic. This wand uses two different strains of magic, one from a dragon and one from a unicorn. As you can imagine, each creature is very different in its magical properties, and combined, the two strains produce a magical field so strong, there are very few people who would be compatible with such a wand, hence 99 percent of wands contain only the one magical core. I believe your own brand of magic is so strong, it is almost as concentrated as that of the Avada Kedavra curse, thereby giving you some protection. Of course, no one, apart from Mr. Potter, has actually survived the full effects of the curse directly, but a Lestintias own magic stops the curse long enough for them to get out of the way, or some such thing."

"You mentioned earlier, that this wand would be good at dark magic; does that mean one of the cores is dark?" Hermione asked wanting to get the worst over with.

"No, a wand has no say in whether it practices dark or light magic, that is the decision of the owner. However, certain wand cores, such as dragon heartstrings and some phoenix feathers, are better able to perform dark magic due to the amount of power they are able to channel. As I am sure you are aware, most dark curses use very concentrated magical energy, which is channelled from the wizard and through the wand to its target. These cores simply channel the energy given off by the wizard more efficiently than, say, that of a tail hair from a unicorn, but even that, given the right unicorn hair teamed with a strong wood, can be a powerful wand in its own right. Your wand is simply better able to cope with a lot of magical energy at any one time, and as dark magic uses intense amounts of power, it is simply better equipped to channel the power from you, to the intended target. But saying that, there are certain healing spells, which also require concentrated amounts of power, something which once again your wand would be very good at doing."

"Well, that's a relief to know." She said, "I've read about powerful wands, some of my friends have them, but I hate the dark arts. Is it true that the more powerful a wand is, the less it will want to work for another person?"

"Yes, that is very true. Wands get to know their owners, and the more powerful they are, the more they will refuse to work with anyone else, and if that person is one their owner does not like, the wand may discharge some negative energy resulting in a nasty burn for the person holding it- that is something you must be careful of. If I were you, I would not mention any of what we have discussed to anyone, and that includes your closest friends. If He Who Must Not Be Named finds out anything we have discussed this morning, there is no telling what will happen." A shudder passed over the old man's face as he finished speaking.

Smiling at him, Hermione reassured, "You can be sure this won't go any further. I'll find out as much as possible about Lestintias, and once I have done so, will then decide what to do. The Dark Arts hold no allure for me, and if I have anything to do with it, this wand will never fall in to the hands of any dark witch or wizard." Turning, she pulled her cloak about her, preparing to leave the shop for the bustling street outside.

"I hope you are right, Miss Granger, I really do!" Hermione heard Mr. Ollivander say, as she exited the shop to face the crowds of Saturday shoppers.

Leaning against the window of Ollivander's, Hermione reviewed what she had learned in the last half-hour. She had, of course, read about Lestintias and their powers, but had not thought any more about it. This would explain a lot of things; for instance why her old wand had been unable to work effectively these last few weeks. Maybe, she thought, this was the reason why she found Charms and especially Transfiguration easier to grasp than her peers. True, she worked hard in all her subjects, but if you were not particularly magical, then not everything would be so easy, no matter how much you practiced and studied.

A picture of Neville Longbottom flashed up in Hermione's mind. Neville, although one of the top students in Herbology, had until the start of their sixth year found it hard to cope in subjects such as Charms, due to the fact that the wand he had until then been using had belonged to his father and therefore was not suited to him.

A loud voice now interrupted Hermione's thoughts. Glancing up, she saw a red faced, irritable looking woman, who must have been over six feet tall, glaring down at her, a child on one hip wailing loudly.

"Do you intend standing there gawping at nothing, all day? If so, kindly choose a place out of the way of people who have shopping to do. Oh for heaven's sake, shut up Archie!" this last remark was directed at the howling toddler, who just cried the harder. "I don't know, young people, one day you'll know what it's like."

Smiling politely at the woman, Hermione pushed herself away from the window and ducked beneath the woman's out-stretched arm, into the throng of people to make her slow way towards the white edifice of Gringott's, just ahead. She arrived at the gold doors, panting slightly and vowing never to come to Diagon Alley again on a Saturday.

She was bowed through the door by a rather mean looking goblin. Entering the huge marble hall through silver doors, held open by another obsequious looking goblin, she made her way over to a free goblin perched on a high stool, behind the marble topped counter running along one side of the hall.

"Good morning," Hermione began, "I would like to take some money out of my vault, number 485. Here is my key, I think you will find everything as it should be."

She handed the goblin the tiny golden key to her Gringott's vault, waiting while the goblin inspected it for any signs of corruption or forgery.

"That seems to be fine. I'll get someone to take you down there right away. Longleg," he called, beckoning to another goblin which came over looking irritable, but nevertheless bowing deeply. "Take Miss Granger down to her vault. She wants to draw out some money."

Beckoning Hermione to follow him, Longleg led the way towards one of the small wooden doors on the other side of the hall. Going through it, Hermione clambered into one of the small carts, which would take them down to her vault. She did not much like the hair-raising cart ride, so shut her eyes until it had come to a stop. Climbing out, she watched Longleg fit her key in to the lock of a small door set in the wall of the murky stone passage. The door swung open and Longleg ushered Hermione in to the stone room. Glancing down, she could se a mound of coins, lying on the dusty floor. Kneeling, she surveyed the money laid out before her. Besides the huge mound of gold galleons, there were towers of silver sickles, and heaps of small bronze knuts. As far as she could remember, there had not been this much gold in her vault the last time she had visited, which had been during the summer, when her parents had deposited some money in there. She had put most of her birthday savings in there, but this transaction had been done by owl. She had received a receipt from Gringott's, confirming that sixty galleons, the equivalent of £300, had been put in to her vault. So where had all this money come from? There must be over four hundred galleons lying at her feet!

Turning to Longleg she asked, "How much money is in here?"

"463 galleons, 58 sickles and 49 knuts." Came the succinct reply. "If Miss wouldn't mind hurrying up!" he said eyeing her impatiently.

Hermione scooped up some money in to a leather bag, jamming it in to her pocket, as she scrambled back in to the cart. "If Miss wants, we can send her a record of all transactions to do with her account," Longleg said graciously.

"Yes please, that would be brilliant," Hermione nodded trying to lighten the mood with a smile, which was wasted on the goblin who was scowling in to the distance.

A terrifying cart ride later, Hermione was deposited once again in the marble hall. Wordlessly, Longleg handed back her key and disappeared, no doubt to escort some other poor soul, Hermione thought. Glancing at her watch, she decided to do her shopping as quickly as possible and then head back to Hogwarts. The mystery of the money in her vault could wait a few hours. For now, she had things to do and not much time in which to do them.

Two hours later, Hermione stood outside the entrance to Flourish and Blotts bookshop, smiling to herself. She had stocked up on potion ingredients, parchment, ink, quills, and some interesting looking toiletries and cosmetics, which she wanted to try out. She stood with her nose pressed against the frosted window of the busy shop, which was packed to the rafters with books of all shapes and sizes, gazing avidly at the books in the window display, she wished she had more time to look around. Going into the shop, Hermione began to browse along the aisles, promising herself she would buy no more than six books. Heading to the tiny section on wandless magic, she took down 'A Beginners Guide to Wandless Magic' by Abigail McKain. A large book in a handsome cover, it would teach her the rudiments of wandless magic - something she was determined to learn. She was just reading 'Step 1: Focusing on Your Inner Source of Magic', when a cold drawling voice assailed her ears.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Granger – Hogwarts' esteemed head girl!"

Hermione felt as though she had been turned to stone. Turning to face the person, she came face to face with none other than Lucius Malfoy. He was leaning insolently against the opposite shelf of books, surveying her as though she were a piece of furniture he was trying to decide whether to purchase or not. She could feel his cold grey eyes boring into her. As his gaze travelled from her hair to her boots, she tried hard not to squirm and fidget under his knife-like scrutiny. Surreptitiously, closing her fingers over her wand, she looked him squarely in the eyes. Admittedly, she was afraid of Lucius Malfoy, but was determined not to let him see it. People like that, she thought grimly, fed upon the weaknesses of others, and she was at enough of a disadvantage as it was.

"So, what brings you here on this fine day?" he asked in his cold voice.

Hermione tried hard not to look as though she recognised him, hoping he could not see her knees shaking. In as casual a voice as she could muster, she answered coolly, "Forgive me, but I do not know who you are."

For a second, she thought her bluff had worked, for Malfoy senior stepped back, looking confused. But then he smiled, that slow cruel smile, which sent a shiver of foreboding up her spine.

"Oh, come now, I think you remember full well who I am, so don't play the innocent with me! I must admit though, I didn't recognise you at first, how grown up you now look, almost pretty, but then physical beauty is not something your kind lack is it now?" Not waiting for an answer, he went on, "So tell me, Hermione is it not? What are you doing here all alone?"

As Hermione knew, the questions seemed innocent enough, but she couldn't help noticing the sneer beneath his words. As long as she stayed in the safety of Diagon Alley, he could not hope to hurt her - there were too many witches and wizards around.

"I don't see what concern it is of yours," she replied levelly, "Now, if you'll be good enough to get out of my way, I'll bid you good day!"

"Tut, tut, tut! I'm sure your parents bought you up to have better manners than that, my dear young lady! As a responsible citizen, I am merely doing my duty in inquiring what you are doing here. Now, if anything were to happen to you, let's say, I would never forgive myself, knowing I had seen you here and not done something to ensure your safety."

"Thank you for your concern," Hermione said trying to keep her composure. She could feel a pang of annoyance taking over the fear she had previously felt. How dare this man look down on her with his insufferable arrogance? Who the hell did he think he was, to ask in that condescendingly sneering way, what she was doing? "However, I am perfectly able to get back to my home without assistance, so if you will kindly step aside..."

"Really?" Now, the mocking tone was more pronounced than ever in his voice, "and how exactly do you intend doing that? If I am right in thinking, there are wards all over Diagon Alley to prevent Apparation. Of course it is possible you flew, but if what my son says about your flying skills is true, I doubt that, so I am left wondering how you got here."

"Well, you can keep wondering, because as far as I'm concerned, it's none of your business!" To illustrate this point, Hermione turned away, moving down the row of books.

He soon caught up with her, and grabbing her cloak, swung her round to face him.

"No one, and I mean no one, walks away from me when I am talking, especially not a dirty little mu-...girl!" He had of course been about to say 'mudblood', but for some reason known only to himself, amended it at the last moment. "I am simply trying to help you and what do I get in return? I'm sure Dumbledore will be very interested to hear where his precious head girl has spent her morning!"

At the expression on Hermione's face at these words, he went on, "Yes, I thought as much. Tell me, Miss 'I never do anything wrong', what was so important to bring you out of school without permission?"

Hermione didn't answer. Over her dead body would she tell him, so thinking fast, she lied, "Well, you see, I am sure your son has mentioned the Graduation Dance, due to be held at the end of this year, and I didn't have anything appropriate to wear, so I had to get something..." She looked down at her feet trying to look mortified, all the time hoping he had believed her.

"The dance is not until June, why could you not have waited until Easter to get your outfit?"

"Well, my family and I are going away and I won't have time." She trailed off, hoping her expression did the rest. He stood there, pondering her words.

"There's something that does not ring quite true, but never mind about that. I will escort you back to school and on the way we can talk! Finish what you have to do here and we can leave."

Panicking now she pulled away. "I wouldn't go anywhere with you, if you were the last person on earth!" she shouted, causing a few curious shoppers to turn and stare at them. "I have no intention of ruining my good name, by being seen in the company of someone who bought his way out of Azkaban! I'll return to Hogwarts, so you needn't bother yourself on my behalf. Anyway, I would have thought that you wouldn't want to be seen with someone of my lowly background. Imagine what you might catch!" She tried to infuse a sneer in the last few words but had to stifle the urge to run, at his black expression.

"I suggest for your own sake that you come with me, girl!" He snarled in a voice barely above a whisper. "I repeat, I shall wait for you while you complete your shopping, or else, there may not be very much left of you to return to Hogwarts."

Hermione could feel the panic rising up inside her. She knew she was out of her depth, and mentally berated herself for losing her temper. She knew full well that he could not care less what she was doing in Diagon Alley. To him she was filth; the lowest of the low and to top it all, she had been deliberately rude to him. He had no intention of taking her back to Hogwarts, a fact that was confirmed by the unpleasant gleam in his eyes. He would probably take her home to torture, she thought wildly.

Taking a few deep breaths, she concentrated on staying calm and rational. Turning to him, she smiled and nodded, before walking off along another row of books. She would play along with his game for the time being, and when the moment was right, get even with him.

Half an hour later, Hermione was ready. She paid for her books, shrunk them and put them in to her pocket, at the same time, drawing out one of the chocolates containing a drop of the invisibility potion that she had made the day before.

Lucius Malfoy followed her out of the shop and lost no time in asking, "So, Miss Granger, what are your plans once you graduate? From what I hear, you are bright enough to go into any field of study." He had apparently regained his good temper. A shame, she thought.

"Oh I don't know," Hermione procrastinated trying to look vague, while her insides writhed with nerves. "You know, I haven't given it much thought, I mean well, I don't know...there are so many options..."

"Surely, you have some idea? Training as an Auror maybe? Or becoming a medi-witch? Also there are the endless possibilities within the actual Ministry itself - the Department of Experimental Charms, or training as an Unspeakable! Come now, I am sure someone such as yourself has given the future some thought?" He gave her a kindly smile that didn't fool her for an instant.

She had indeed given her future a lot of thought, and had based her choice of NEWT subjects on it, but was not about to admit this to him. She wondered why he was so eager to know what she had in mind as a career, but whatever the reason, she would bet her new wand it was not good. Ahead of her, she could see the wall separating Diagon Alley from the pub of the Leaky Cauldron. Reaching it, she preceded him through it and entered the still- crowded pub.

"This way!" he said, indicating the fireplace on which rested a tin of Floo powder. As quick as a flash, Hermione pushed the chocolate into her mouth and sucked. Lucius Malfoy's exclamation of rage told her what she wanted to know.

Ducking out of the way, into the recess which lead to the ladies' toilets, she watched in amusement as he pirouetted on the spot, waving his arms around, like a man gone mad. That would teach him! A 'mudblood', she may be, but this time, she had got the better of him. She tried to smother her laughter as she watched him make a fool of himself.

"Where is she, the little piece of filth, where is she? She was here a moment ago. I saw her. She has left me. I'll kill her for this...the little..." People all around were starting to gape open mouthed at Mr. Malfoy, whose shouts and gesticulations caused them to back away in alarm.

He reminded Hermione of a schizophrenic she had once seen in a film. So much for the calm, collected man, who never showed his emotions to the outside world, she thought disparagingly. But then everyone had to snap at some point, and by the looks of it, Lucius Malfoy was doing just that!

Trusting the fact that everyone would be occupied in watching Mr. Malfoy's antics, she reluctantly entered the ladies' toilets, shut her eyes and Disapparated.

XoXoXoXo

Emerging from the clump of trees on the side of the road, leading to Hogwarts, Hermione began running towards the school. It was vital she get back as soon as possible. Glancing at her watch, she saw she had twenty-five minutes to get back, be changed, and be in the library with a few books in front of her. No doubt Lucius Malfoy would contact Professor Dumbledore as soon as he had regained his senses, to tell him of Hermione's escapade into London. She ran through the gates, across the grounds, and up the steps in to the castle. The entrance hall was deserted, but not stopping to draw breath, she hurried on, up the marble staircase along corridors, up more stairs, and finally to the tapestry leading to the prefect's corridor. Gasping out the password, she stumbled through it, making her way over to the empty portrait guarding the entrances to the common rooms. "Gryffindor!" she shouted and watched impatiently as a second later the stubborn lion guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor common room loped into view. Stuttering out the password, she waited with bated breath, while the lion sniffed loudly in her direction. Then satisfied, he swung forward allowing her to slip in to the room. Not caring who saw the portrait open, she stumbled across the room, and finally up the girls' staircase, into her own room.

Stripping off her cloak, she banished it to the wardrobe. Then saying a swift spell to change her back into the clothes she had worn to breakfast, she scooped up some books, and left the room via the portrait of the lion, at whom she had to shout the password, as he was snoozing in his frame. It was a shame, she thought distractedly, scrambling through the portrait hole, that you could not enter the room this way; it would make life a lot easier. Entering the deserted corridor, she dashed down it, emerging behind a tapestry on the third floor. As she went, she charmed off her make-up, and put her hair back in to its original clip. It was now much easier to run as she was wearing trainers. Within five minutes, she had reached the library. Pushing open the door, she silently made her way to her favourite seat, throwing herself down, to wait for the potion to wear off.

For a while, all thoughts were eclipsed by the need for oxygen, but once her breathing had returned to normal, Hermione glanced at her watch to find, her half-hour was up. Opening her books, she sat back to wait for the inevitable summons from Professor Dumbledore, but it did not come.

An hour later, Hermione was getting seriously worried, and began to wonder if Lucius Malfoy was going to come at all. Strangely enough, this thought gave her no comfort. He was a hard man, and anything he learned to the detriment of others, he would use to his own advantage. He was also the type to bear a grudge until his dying day. No doubt, she thought, he would wait and strike back when she was least expecting it. True, the morning had not ended as she would have hoped, but she had achieved her main objective, and now possessed a wand with which she was compatible. She leaned back in her chair, savouring the peace and tranquillity of the library, allowing it to wash over her. It felt good to sit and think of nothing, floating in the serenity and quiet, which could only be found in this huge room crammed with thousands upon thousands of books.

Hermione's eyes began to close, her breathing deepening. She was on the brink of sleep, in the no man's land which divides sleep from consciousness, when an all too familiar voice drawled right behind her,

" Well I never! If it isn't Granger, our little dare-devil! We are becoming bold, are we not? Imagine, going all the way to Diagon Alley all alone. What will Mummy and Daddy have to say about that?"

It was none other than her archenemy, and judging by the malicious expression contorting his face, she knew that Lucius Malfoy had indeed exacted his revenge! Turning slowly to face him, she once again prepared to do battle with a Malfoy!


	5. Chapter 4

Authors Note: Thanks to my beta who has made such a fantastic job of editing this and to all those of you who have reviewed. Your comments and suggestions have been invaluable so keep them coming in! Please refer to the Prologue for the disclaimer.

Chapter four

Jumping to her feet, Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy, lounging against the bookshelf behind him, a smirk playing about his mouth. She became suddenly aware of how tall he was, towering over her by a good six inches. She could feel panic forming in a tight knot in her stomach but was determined to remain calm no matter what. If truth were told, she was slightly afraid of Malfoy, and usually, Harry and Ron would be there to act as a buffer between them. Now however, she was alone, and judging by the silence pressing in upon her from all angles, even Madam Pince, the irritable librarian, was nowhere to be found.

"What do you want Malfoy?" Hermione asked, taking care to look him straight in the eye, whilst at the same time closing her fingers around her wand residing in the pocket of her jeans.

"Well now, an interesting question if ever there was one." He drawled, looking down at her with a mock frown creasing his brow. "I've just received a very interesting letter from my father. Can you imagine what, or shall I say who, it was about, Granger?"

"No, I've better things to do with my time than to imagine what you and that father of yours could be corresponding about." Hermione retorted hotly.

"Well, in that case allow me to tell you," he replied, bending forward so their eyes were on the same level. "Father decided to visit Diagon Alley this morning to pick up some books he'd ordered from Flourish and Blotts. He was standing in the shop gazing absentmindedly out of the window, when a young woman looked in. At first father didn't take much notice of her, but after a while, he glanced at her again. Something about her face rang a bell in his memory, although at the time, he could not think who she was. Anyway, she entered the shop, and deciding to satisfy his curiosity, father followed her to try and discover her identity. It was as she buried herself in a book, that father put two and two together and recognised her. Shall I tell you who it was, Granger?"

Not waiting for an answer he carried on, "It was you! At first, father thought he was seeing things, and so decided to instigate a conversation to verify your identity, and what an interesting conversation it was too. Apart from being deliberately rude to him, you disappeared as soon as he offered to help you get back to school, not a very lady-like way to behave, don't you think? One would think you had something to hide, or why else would you skulk off to Diagon Alley all alone?"

Hermione frowned. Trust Lucius Malfoy to tell his son what had transpired in Diagon Alley. He had no doubt embellished the story to suit his own purposes. It was imperative she kept calm and thought this thing through. Anger was starting to replace the fear she had at first felt. Who the hell did Malfoy think he was to question her about her morning's activities? Anyway, she thought, Malfoy senior had no proof whatsoever that she had been in Diagon Alley, apart from his word, which these days, did not count for much. Apart from Ginny and Mr Ollivander, no one knew of the reason for her visit and she doubted if either of them would say, even if pressed. The best thing to do was to behave as though nothing had happened, and then maybe he would lose interest.

"Honestly, Malfoy, the stories you come up with!" she exhaled in exasperation. "If I had a Knut for every time you've tried to get myself, Harry or Ron into trouble, I'd be pretty rich by now. Just do us all a favour, and mind your own business. If you spent all the time you waste on annoying us in your studies, your father may not have to buy your good marks for you!" She could see instantly that her remark had hit home - Malfoy's face darkened; the sneer which had previously been playing around his mouth was gone, to be replaced with a black look which could have done credit to Voldemort himself.

"So you think my father buys my grades for me, do you?" he asked in a voice that was no louder than a whisper, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. "Well I hate to shatter your illusions of me, Granger, but no, my grades aren't 'bought' for me as you seem to think. It's my hard work and constant slogging that's got me my good marks, and don't you dare forget that! Incidentally," he smirked,"I wonder what Dumbledore would make of one of his golden Gryffindor's little excursion into forbidden territory? I'm sure he'd find it very interesting, if I were to enlighten him!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione snapped, scowling up at him. "Now if you don't mind, I'm off. Oh, and Malfoy, making slanderous accusations about people isn't the way to ensure you get a decent reference at the end of the year."

"Ah, but little so-called 'shopping trips' into Diagon Alley are also not the kind of thing you do to retain your Head Girl position, in case you've forgotten that!" At this point, he straightened up, looking down at her with a mock frown creasing his forehead. "But I ask myself – what was so important that Goody two shoes had to risk her neck and spotless reputation by sneaking off to Diagon Alley? Surprisingly, I can't come up with a plausible enough answer. That drivel you told my father about getting dress robes for the graduation dance is a load of bull, as we both know - which brings me back to my original question. Whatever it is, it must have been extremely important." As he spoke, he picked up a curl of Hermione's hair, which had escaped from the clip tying it back, and began to twirl it around his fingers. He was once again smiling in that unsettling way, which made Hermione want to squerm.

Pulling her hair free of his hand, she glared at him. She was becoming nervous, and did not like the way Malfoy's mind was working, she had to think of something to distract him for he seemed hell bent on finding out why she had gone in to Diagon Alley. She realised too late that this was not some malicious attempt to get her into trouble, but something much more dangerous and disturbing, in which she was out of her depth to cope.

In a last ditch attempt to distract him, she sneered, "If I were you, I wouldn't ask myself too many questions, I doubt your brain could cope with the extra activity this entails!"

"Oh I don't know," he responded softly, "It's amazing what my brain – and my body for that matter – can do when required. Shall I show you?" As he spoke, he stretched out a hand to the nape of her neck taking a firm hold of the hair lying in dishevelment over her shoulders. "I think you may enjoy what I'm capable of doing, and maybe, you may even learn from me." He gave the hair a gentle tug, tipping her head back. He brought his other hand up to rest on her windpipe and with his thumb, began caressing her jaw.

Fighting the primal instinct to wriggle free, she looked up in to his steely eyes, willing her gaze to meet his challengingly. "What are you going to do Malfoy? Strangling me is certainly not the way to get into Dumbledore's good graces or even Voldemort's for that matter."

To her dismay, he simply laughed.

"Aren't we being dramatic today? Who said anything about strangulation? Here I am just trying to be friendly towards another human being, who is obviously in distress, and what do I get for my troubles? An accusation of strangulation," he smirked, shaking his head, letting his finger trail down the side of her neck. "Really Granger, you must learn to cut down on the dramatics, it isn't becoming you know. Anyway, even if I did decide to pay you back for some of the insults I've had to endure over the past six years, who's going to stop me? Everyone who's usually in the library on a Saturday is in Hogsmeade, and I don't doubt Potty and the Weasel are too. But don't worry," he said, as she made to raise her foot to kick him, "I'm too much of a gentleman to do such a thing. Forgive and forget, I say."

Smirk still in place, he released her, and stepped back. "Now, if we could get back to the matter at hand? Oh, and don't worry - I won't divulge your little secret, it will be strictly between us."

"And what matter would that be?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Actually, on second thoughts, don't bother answering that. I've wasted more than enough time talking to you, and only have a headache to show for it." So saying, she turned, and before he could stop her, slipped into the aperture between two shelves and moved out of sight. She didn't wait to see if he had noticed, but made her way through the library and out of the doors. She did not stop until she reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where she collapsed in to an armchair by the fire and shut her eyes, trying not to replay the last half an hour in her mind.

XoXoXoXo

Hermione bit her lip nervously, glancing down at the piece of parchment clutched tightly in her hand. Getting restlessly to her feet, she went over to the large library window, which looked out on to the lake, which today was frozen solid. The lawns sloping away from the castle, were deserted of all life, and above her, Hermione could make out the outlines of some menacing looking clouds, which looked as though they would burst at any moment. Although it was only 5pm, darkness cloaked the castle and grounds like a velvet shroud, making it difficult to see the grounds clearly. Hopefully, Hermione thought miserably, it would rain so hard the roof of the castle would spring a leak, thereby diverting professor Dumbledore's attention from her to it. She refocused her attention on the parchment in her hand, trying valiantly to keep her tears at bay. It was a letter from Professor Dumbledore, asking her in very polite terms, to meet with him in his office at 5.20pm this evening. Hermione knew only too well what he wanted to talk to her about. Malfoy must have told him of her trip in to Diagon Alley after all. Right now, she wanted to kill that horrid spoiled brat, and then feed his intestines to Fang, who she was sure would be grateful for the extra titbit. Actually, on reflection that seemed too nice a fate for the git! Pulling herself from her reverie, she glanced at her watch to see it was now 5.10pm.

Reluctantly turning away from the darkening window, she swung her heavy bag on to her back, and made her way out of the hushed atmosphere of the library. She felt as though she were going to the gallows, as a knot of dread settled in the pit of her stomach, making it hard for her to breathe. What would Professor Dumbledore say to her? But more importantly, how would he punish her? She had no doubt that she would at least be suspended, if not expelled. At this thought, she felt the tears prickle the backs of her eyes, but she determinedly blinked them back; she would not let anyone see her cry! She could just imagine the Slytherins' jeering remarks if they so much as saw her shed a tear. Reaching the gargoyle hoarding the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office, she gave the password 'Blood Lollie-pop' and waited as it sprang aside to let her pass. Stepping on to the spiral staircase, she grabbed the handrail to steady herself, while the staircase carried her to her doom. Moments later, she stepped off and was faced by the door to the office. Bracing herself, she knocked and waited. After a moment, the door swung open to reveal Professor Dumbledore himself beaming down at her.

"Ah Miss Granger, do come in."

Entering the beautiful circular office, Hermione took a quick look round. She had only been in here twice before, at the start of her fifth year, when Professor Dumbledore had called the first prefect meeting of the year, and at the start of this year when she and Anthony Goldstein had met with Dumbledore to discuss their duties as head boy and girl of the school - all subsequent meetings taking place in Professor McGonagall's office. The room was lit by a golden glow, the source of which Hermione could not see. Fawkes, Dumbledore's scarlet and gold Phoenix, was standing on his golden perch, gazing placidly at her. Waving her to a chair opposite his desk, Dumbledore seated himself behind the handsome desk, which Hermione guessed had given service to many a Headmaster and Headmistress. He now regarded her thoughtfully through his half-moon spectacles, which glinted in the soft light suffusing the room.

"I must say, Miss Granger, it seems a long time since we last spoke, how time does fly when you aren't looking. If I'm not mistaken, the last time we met in this office was at the start of this year, wasn't it?" Hermione tried hard not to fidget beneath that all knowing gaze, fixing her eyes instead on a silver contraption standing on a spindle-legged table behind Dumbledore, whirring and omitting puffs of smoke at irregular intervals.

"Yes, something like that, I think." She muttered, wishing for the fiftieth time that he would get on with it and stop delaying the inevitable.

"Well, you are probably wondering why I wanted to see you in my office." he went on. "On Saturday, I had an owl from Mr Ollivander, who told me that you had been to see him that morning to buy a new wand, as yours wasn't functioning as it should be. He went on to tell me about the wand you had bought and your subsequent discussion. Now, I cannot condone your actions, for you deliberately flouted school rules to go to Diagon Alley. I do however; understand your reason for going, and it turns out that you did ask Professor McGonagall if a staff member could accompany you in to London, although you did not say why. Of course, if she had known your reason for going, I am sure we could have come to some arrangement. As this is the first time in seven years you have deliberately broken rules, I will overlook your transgression this once, although I must impress upon you the danger in to which you placed yourself. As much as it pains me to admit it, wizarding London is not a safe place these days for a barely overage witch who has only limited means of defending herself."

Hermione looked up into Dumbledore's eyes and said, "I am sorry Professor, but well, I had to go…I mean, well…" she trailed off, not knowing what to say next. Mr Ollivander had expressly told her not to divulge any of her conversation with him to anyone else. How much had Mr Ollivander told Professor Dumbledore?

As though he was reading her thoughts, Dumbledore went on, "It is interesting how these things turn out. Yes, indeed." There was a far-away look in his eyes Hermione did not understand, and for a while he said nothing but stared into space absently twirling his silver beard around one long finger. Eventually, he pulled himself out of his self-induced trance and refocused on Hermione sitting before him, who was nervously pleating and unpleating the fabric of her robes between her fingers. "Forgive me, Miss Granger, where was I? Ah yes, about your wand. Well, Mr Ollivander described to me the power of the wand you had bought from him. May I have a look at it?"

"Yes, of course, Professor." Hermione handed him her wand while wondering where this discussion was leading. Taking the wand, he lifted it to his eyes peering closely at it. Hermione was glad she had polished it that morning; the dark wood of the wand gleamed in the soft light, and the aura of power surrounding it, was almost palpable in the quiet room.

"Interesting," he murmured, handing the wand back to Hermione. Getting to his feet, he started to pace the length of the office, all the while keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Hermione who was getting more uncomfortable by the minute. Finally Dumbledore spoke and what he said surprised Hermione so much, she sat there as though stunned.

"Usually, I do everything in my power to ensure that all students in this school have as little to do as possible with the outside world and the events taking place in it, unless it affects them directly. However, under these circumstances, I have no choice but to ask for your help as the information you and Mr Ollivander came upon on Saturday, can be of vital use to us. Miss Granger, I am sure you know all about the Order of the Phoenix, the resistance group against Voldemort that I run. Being who you are, I am also sure that you know, we are not doing too well in our efforts to defeat Voldemort in his rise to power. The ministry being what they are are of little assistance to us, and so we are left fighting this dark wizard alone. I am asking for your assistance in defeating him, Miss Granger. Your abilities as a Lestintia, may be the turning point in a war which otherwise may go on for I do not know how long."

There was a silence as he finished speaking. Hermione sat gaping at him like a fish out of water. The silence was broken, not by Dumbledore, but by Fawkes who with a burst of phoenix song, flew across the room to land in Hermione's lap. She jumped; almost dislodging the phoenix who was just making himself comfortable. Glancing down into Fawkes' bright beady eyes, Hermione wondered what he was thinking.

After a moment of contemplation, she finally spoke, "I don't know what to say - I mean, I…of course I know of the order – I've stayed at head-quarters, but to be one of them, well, I don't know if I know enough…"

"Is that your only worry?" he asked, turning to face her and smiling slightly.

"Yes, I mean the rest of the Order are all adults; fully trained witches and wizards. Just because I'm supposed to be a Lestintia, it doesn't mean I have control of my abilities." She hoped she didn't sound too panicky as she said this.

"No, what you say is true. But this is something we are going to have to work on. I'm sure you are aware of the reason you outgrew your wand. You are a very powerful witch, and if I am right, possess a unique gift, which when discovered, will, I am sure benefit the light side as a whole. This is assuming, of course, you do want to join the order."

"Professor, there's no question about that. There's nothing I want more than to work against Voldemort" she emphasised, "but I'm just worried I won't come up to expectation, and I couldn't bare to disappoint the Order."

"I doubt that very much. Throughout your time at Hogwarts, you have shown a maturity well beyond your years, considering all the prejudice you have had to face from various students. If anything, this has made you stronger and more determined to succeed, rather than put a dent in your confidence. I'm sure given the right training; you will become one of the most powerful witches of the age. I need not tell you of all people what Voldemort is capable of, and unless a stop is put to his activities, I doubt the wizarding world will be the place you know, in ten or even five years' time."

"Yeah, I suppose being one of Harry's best friends, has helped me see life for what it really is, but what if someone else finds out that I'm working for the Order?" she asked nervously while idly stroking the phoenix in her lap.

"I'm confident no one will find out, after all, no one including Messers Potter and Weasley knew about the time-turner you had to use in your third year, now did they?" The old man's eyes twinkled merrily.

"No, of course not, but that was because it was a secret…" Hermione stopped abruptly, the parallels of both situations had just occurred to her; she had been required to keep the time-turner a secret from everyone including the staff - some of whom had given her strange looks during her third year. This situation was no different, as working for the resistance against Voldemort could costs Hermione her life, if anyone were to find out about it!

Smiling at Dumbledore, she nodded before saying, "Fine, I accept your offer. I just hope your faith in me is justified."

"Oh, it is Miss Granger, it is! I don't want you worrying about this - let an old man who has nothing better to do with his time do that for you. All you have to do is turn up to the tutoring I will arrange for you, and hopefully after a short space of time, your gift should manifest itself."

"All right then - I'll try!" Hermione said, suppressing a smile. The day she stopped worrying about something just because someone told her to do so, would be the day that the sun rose from the west.

XoXoXoXo

Hermione descended the spiral staircase from Dumbledore's office, her mind in turmoil. Within the space of four days, she felt as though her life had been turned upside down. Maybe, she thought, this was the prelude to stranger things; first, the chat with Mr Ollivander on Saturday, then the confrontation with Malfoy, and now three days later, Professor Dumbledore instead of expelling her, had asked her to join the Order of the Phoenix! She felt oddly calm, although she could not work out why. Life was strange, she mused, and who would have thought the ordinary bookish daughter of two dentists, would end up working alongside some of the most esteemed witches and wizards of the age? Even if it killed her, she vowed to try and live up to the expectations placed on her by Dumbledore and maybe, just maybe, they would be able to defeat Voldemort once and for all.

So determined, Hermione stepped off the staircase, passed the gargoyle which had jumped aside as soon as she had approached, and made her way along the dimly lit corridor towards Gryffindor Tower. She badly needed some time to herself, to assess and come to terms with the situation in which she had now found herself. The corridor was deserted; Hermione supposed that everyone was at dinner. Speeding up, she was just about to ascend a rickety staircase leading to the sixth floor, when a figure stepped out from behind a suit of armour, blocking her path. Skidding to a stop, Hermione scowled as she looked up to see Draco Malfoy looking down at her. She gulped, wondering what he wanted. Frantically, she went through the week's prefect duties in her head to see if there was something she had not done but there was nothing.

Smiling lazily at her he drawled, "Goody Granger, in Dumbledore's office? What is the world coming to?"

"Get out of my way," Hermione said quietly glaring at him.

"Why Granger? In a hurry to get somewhere?"

Then, before she knew what was happening, he had grabbed her arm, pulling her through a doorway on her right. Spluttering with indignation and not a little fright, Hermione turned to face him, her right hand automatically going to the pocket holding her wand.

"Look, it's OK," he stressed when he noticed her movements, "I've no intention of hexing you, I just wanted to talk to you."

"I'm sure whatever you have to say can be said in the corridor, with other people around, or is what you have to say something that you would rather a teacher not hear?" she asked in a low voice.

"You know; if I didn't know you so well, I'd say you were afraid of me." He drawled, smirking down at her.

"You wished!" She spat, her nervousness draining away, to be replaced with anger. "Now if you don't mind, I have better things to do with my Tuesday evening, than to stand around in some dingy classroom talking, well arguing, with you."

Choosing to ignore her statement, Malfoy asked, "So what did Dumbledore want with you?"

Hermione stared at him. How had Malfoy known she had been to see Dumbledore?

As though she had asked this question aloud, he went on, "I saw a school owl deliver the note to you this morning at breakfast. Of course, I didn't know what it said," he shrugged, "but your expression told me it wasn't good news. I guessed that a teacher had probably asked to see you. Then big mouth Weasley trumpeted 'what the hell does Dumbledore want to see you about this evening?'" he snorted, "I think half the hall heard him. Anyway, I waited around by that foul Gargoyle and here you are. So what _did_ Dumbledore want from you?"

Not giving herself time to wonder why Malfoy had been watching her that morning, Hermione bit back, "That Malfoy, in case you haven't noticed, is none of your business. Anyway, why do you want to know? Now, for the last time, get out of my way!"

Once again choosing to ignore her command, the blond continued, "Actually, if you must know, I was a bit worried." Hermione noticed that he was no longer sneering down at her, but was gazing avidly at a point just over her right shoulder. "I wondered if Dumbledore had found out about your trip to Diagon Alley, and wanted to let you know before you accused me that I didn't tell him about it." A silence followed his confession, in which he definitely did not meet her eyes. Hermione, for the second time that day, was speechless.

The world has gone mad! she thought distractedly.

Leaning against a very dirty-looking blackboard, she stared open mouthed at him, and finally managed; "I…I don't believe I heard you right! Why on earth should _you_ be worried if I got in to trouble from Dumbledore? Especially when you've made it your life-long ambition for the last six and a half years to get Ron, Harry and I expelled? Why the sudden concern?" she frowned in distrust.

"Damn it, Granger," he clenched out, "If you must know, I didn't want you to think I couldn't keep my word. Malfoys pride themselves on keeping promises whenever they make them and well…"

"Yeah, but you didn't make me a promise though, did you?" Hermione's eyebrows rose in retort, "You just said, 'Oh I won't tell anyone' or something along those lines."

"So you _did_ go to Diagon Alley on Saturday!" His eyes lit up triumphantly. "Well, I gave you my word I wouldn't say anything, and being a Malfoy, am honour-bound to keep it."

"Whether I went to Diagon Alley or not, is of no concern of yours. It's getting late, and I'm tired so get out of my way!" she snapped.

To her surprise, he moved away from the door, allowing her to get out. As she was leaving, she glanced over her shoulder, "Anyway, why are you so anxious to explain yourself to me?" Turning, she saw he was leaning on one of the dusty desks, his elbows resting on the desktop, his chin cupped in his palm. He didn't answer her question but seemed to be in another world.

Shrugging she turned away and had taken only a few steps along the corridor, when she thought she heard him mutter, "Maybe because I care what you think about me, and don't want you to think any worse of me than you already do."

Surprised, she was just about to turn back to ask him what he was talking about, when two familiar figures loomed out of the dimness, coming towards her.

"Mione, you're still alive!" Ron exclaimed, as he and Harry reached her. "Are you hungry? I noticed you weren't at dinner. Harry, I think we need a detour to the kitchens." Not waiting for an answer, Ron grabbed Hermione's arm, and began marching her down the corridor towards the lower floors of the castle.

"You look a bit shaken, Hermione," Harry said. "Did everything go well with Dumbledore?"

"Oh yeah, he didn't want much, you know - just the usual head boy/girl stuff." She replied trying to sound casual. Around them, people were making their way up from the Great Hall, making it impossible to talk. Hermione was glad for this - she needed time to work out what Malfoy had meant.

It seemed however; fate had other ideas, for as soon as they had started down the marble staircase, a voice called to Hermione from amidst the throng of students, "Hermione, over here!"

Turning, Hermione saw Mandy Brocklehurst, a Ravenclaw in her year, waving frantically at her. Being petite, Mandy was finding it difficult to fight against the tide of students moving against her in the opposite direction. Hermione waited patiently for her, much to Ron's annoyance. Finally, Mandy reached them panting slightly.

"Hey stranger!" she greeted, smiling at Hermione who smiled back. "It's been absolutely ages since I saw you last, what are you doing with yourself these days?"

"Mandy, you saw me the other day in the library," Hermione returned her smile.

"Well, if you two don't mind!" Ron interrupted, scowling at Mandy, causing her to go an interesting shade of red, "We'll just get the stuff and meet you back in the Gryffindor common room, say in fifteen minutes Hermione?"

"Yeah sure," Hermione nodded and then followed Mandy to the tranquillity of the library.

"God, it's absolute bedlam out there!" Mandy exclaimed pushing open the heavy doors. Following Hermione to a table at the back. Hermione threw herself down into one of the chairs, while Mandy seated herself opposite. "So, how have things been with you lately, Hermione? I can't help noticing that you seem to be a bit quiet these days, anything up?"

Hermione smiled at Mandy, who was looking anxious. The two had become friends in their third year, when they had taken up Arithmancy and the study of Ancient Runes. Both had a love of learning, and had often spent hours in the library discussing the knottier points of an Arithmantic chart, or a symbol they had been asked to write about in Ancient Runes. Hermione found Mandy to be an interesting and an intellectually challenging companion, who unlike most girls of their age, did not spend her time gawping at every boy who passed, or wondering what the stars predicted for her love life that week. Their friendship was further enhanced by their mutual dislike for Divination and all that it stood for.

"No, there's nothing unusual, just work and stuff. I feel as though I've been run off my feet. I sometimes tutor some of the younger students and between that, all our homework and head girl duties, I don't seem to have time to breathe anymore."

"Well, it sounds as though you need a rest," Mandy replied. "I wrote to Mum and Dad the other day, asking them if you could come and stay with us during the Easter holidays. I mean, we hardly spend any time together coming from different houses, so I thought it'd be nice to spend some time together away from Hogwarts, don't you think? Anyway, Mum and Dad wrote back this morning, they say it's OK for you to visit, and they're dying to meet you!"

"Well, thanks, I don't know what to say!" Hermione stammered at a loss.

"Say yes, and we can start arranging things, and before you say you need the library during the holidays, I just want to point out our library at home is pretty huge and most of the stuff you'll need is in there. So don't you use that as an excuse to say no!" Mandy pointed at her emphatically.

It was true, Hermione thought, all she did these days, was run around trying to get her work done, and worry about her magical abilities. Maybe getting away from Hogwarts for a while would help her put things into perspective? Then an unpleasant thought entered her mind. Looking at Mandy, she asked warily, "Your family, well, they don't have a problem with muggle-borns, do they?"

"A problem?" Mandy laughed, "My eldest brother is married to a muggle who, in my parents eyes, can do no wrong! So I really can't see why they would take a dislike to you because of your muggle heritage!"

"Then that leaves me with no reason for declining," Hermione grinned at Mandy.

"Fantastic!" Mandy shrieked, earning a disapproving look from Madam Pince. "We'll have so much fun! We have an absolutely huge library; a swimming pool and can play Quiditch on the east lawn of our house. Also we can meet loads of people! I mean, there're always loads of parties at Easter, and you can meet all the stuck-up snobs my parents associate with."

"Well, as long as I don't have to come into contact with people like the Malfoys" Hermione laughed, remembering all to clearly her last encounter with Lucius Malfoy, "We should be OK."

"Well, actually," Mandy frowned, "the Malfoys are a really old bloodline, whom my parents have to associate with - not because they want to, mind you, but because etiquette demands it. But cheer up," Mandy grinned, "we'll see them twice at most, and each time will be at a huge gathering where there'll be loads of other people, so we may not even cross paths! So don't you worry about it." Hermione returned Mandy's grin, before thanking her and bidding her good night.

Making her way back to Gryffindor Tower, she marvelled at her good luck. She could spend time with Mandy without worrying about petty things like interhouse rivalries and they could get to know each other better. The Brocklehursts were a pretty rich and important family, if '_Oldest Wizarding Families Within Europe_' was to be believed. Hermione had never seen a wizard's mansion before, and was looking forward to meeting Mandy's parents, from whom she could learn a lot about ancient wizarding customs. And as for their library! she grinned just thinking about it.

Hermione could do with a holiday and where better to spend it, than in Mandy's home in the heart of Shropshire? And you never know who you might meet, she thought, grinning guiltily to herself. Fine, there was the little problem of meeting the Malfoys, but as Mandy had pointed out, they would be with lots of other people and Lucius Malfoy wouldn't dare try anything – his good name meant too much to him. All in all, she thought, she could put up with the Malfoys' – it would be a small price to pay for such a wonderful holiday.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Note: thanks once again to my beta for editing this so it is readable. Quite a few people have asked me to email then when I update, but haven't left an email address. If you wish me to notify you when I next update, please leave your email address when reviewing. As ever, suggestions and comments are welcome.

Chapter five

"As I said before, we have two main options. We can either use the Charm – risky, but ultimately better under the circumstances, or we can brew the potion and do it that way. Although the potion is less of a risk, how're we going to obtain the ingredients?" Hermione, Ron and Harry stared down at the books lying in a heap around them on Hermione's bedroom floor. "Remember," Hermione went on, "if this goes wrong, we're doomed and if someone finds out…" Shrugging, she scowled at the two boys sitting opposite her, both wearing frowns of deep concentration.

"Well," Ron began. "Let's look at this thing logically. If we use the charm, it will be bloody painful, to say the least, and what if it goes wrong? Remember, Hermione, we aren't half as good in Charms as you are. I don't know about you, but I'd much rather take a potion that we can ensure we've brewed correctly. C'mon, it makes sense, you know it does!"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Harry agreed reluctantly, "but as Hermione said, where the hell are we supposed to get things like unicorn blood, Boomslang skin and all the other stuff the potion requires? I for one would rather not raid Snape's stores. I still haven't forgotten the last time we did that, and even now, I swear Snape still remembers."

"Yeah, but he never proved it was you who threw that firework into Goyle's cauldron. Cor, do you remember Malfoy's face? He could hardly lift it because his nose was so big!" Ron sniggered and standing up, wandered over to the window. "If only there was someone we could ask…" He fell silent and stared unseeingly out at the blustery day.

Well there's noone we can ask - it would be too much of a risk." Hermione snapped, "Honestly, if someone finds out about this, we'll get expelled. The whole point of us becoming Animagi is to give us some kind of protection against… well, you know! No, we're just going to have to risk it. It's lucky that you two were able to question Sirius about it that time during the Christmas holidays of our fifth year to find out all you could. That in itself has saved us a good few years' work. Otherwise, we'd have to sneak into the restricted section of the library every night just to find out how to do it. Now that we know that, all we need to do is to decide which method we're going to use. As I said before, I still think the Charm is probably better, but as you pointed out Ron…" she lapsed in to a thoughtful silence, her chin propped in her palm.

This discussion had now been going on for the better part of an hour, and even now, they had not come to an agreement as to which method to use to become Animagi. Hermione smiled to herself. It was strange, she thought, this project had been something she had intended to research, but Harry and Ron had beaten her to it.

They had sat her down at the start of their sixth year, asking if they could have a talk. They had explained their intention of becoming unregistered Animagi, and had showed Hermione the parchment bearing an abbreviated version of their discussion with Sirius, two years ago. She had stared at the parchment and when she had asked why they had not shown it to her before, Harry had bitten his lip and admitted that only now was he able to think of Sirius without pain engulfing him, so he had hidden the parchment at the bottom of his trunk. They had insisted that she, too, become an Animagus. They had all started the prescribed training which all had found extremely difficult. Only now did they feel confident enough to attempt the actual transformation and therefore, after having taken _'Animagi: Methods and Means'_ from the restricted section of the library at night whilst wearing the invisibility cloak, the three of them were now discussing the best way of undertaking this risky transformation.

"You know, Hermione," Harry said after a while, "I know that you'd rather not risk the potion, but overall, I think it's probably safest. Surely there must be a way to take the stuff without Snape noticing?"

"Well, I suppose so, but I just feel so bad about…" She was cut off by a snort from Ron, who, turning to face them reminded,

"Yeah, and how about all the times Snape's picked on us in class? Not to mention all the points we've lost just for being in Gryffindor? And that isn't taking into consideration what poor Neville has had to suffer at that git's hands!"

Hermione bit her lip in thought, a habit she had acquired over the years that she was trying to get out of. No matter how she looked at this problem, she could not find a satisfactory solution, but as Ron had pointed out, the potion was probably less risky in the long-term, even if it did mean another trip into Professor Snape's store cupboard.

Sighing resignedly she capitulated, "OK, OK, I get your point. But I swear, if we get caught…"

"If we get caught, we'll tell Dumbledore we threatened you at wand-point to help us, and take all the blame okay?" Ron grinned broadly at her.

"You know full well I won't let you do that!" Hermione retorted, scowling at him. "What we need to do is get him out of the way for a while. That way, we can take the ingredients without anyone being the wiser. I think that since I know where his storeroom is, I'd better be the one to do the stealing. You two will probably knock something over," she rolled her eyes. "Once I get the ingredients we need, we can use my bathroom to brew the potion."

XoXoXoXo

Hermione tried not to shiver, but the cold seeped into her robes, making it impossible for her teeth not to chatter in the chilly atmosphere pervading the dungeons. Peering around the corner, she wished Harry would hurry up. At this rate, she would be here all night. Pressing herself close to the stonewall of the passage, she strained her ears for any sound from the office, but there was nothing stirring. Stifling a yawn, she was just wondering what to do, when the door to the office was suddenly flung open, and an angry looking Professor Snape strode out, muttering beneath his breath. Knowing she had only seconds to act, Hermione jumped up and ducking, slipped into the gap between Snape and the door. Moving sideways, she slid into the office just as the door shut with a snap. Not stopping to look around, Hermione made straight for the half-open door of the storeroom. If possible, this tiny room was even colder than the corridor outside. Hugging Harry's invisibility cloak more tightly around her, Hermione bit her lip nervously. Going in, she looked up at the rows upon rows of shelves of potions ingredients lining the walls of the small dank room. Swiftly, she collected some bicorn horn, Boomslang skin, unicorn blood, and a bat spleen. It was difficult, she thought, to stop her hands from shaking; a combination of nerves and cold was making it hard for her to handle the ingredients.

After what felt like an eternity, but was only mere minutes, she finally stepped back breathing a sigh of relief. The first step of this dangerous operation was complete. The front of her robes were bulging, as this was where she had stored the precious ingredients. It was a good job, she thought ruefully, that the cloak was hiding the bulge from sight or else she would get some very odd looks, especially from the male sector of the population. She tried not to think of what Snape would say if he found out anyone had been in his storeroom. Once again, she checked the ingredients on the shelves, but as she already knew, she had left no incriminating evidence; all the jars and bottles were in their correct places and she had spelled her finger marks away.

Going out into the office, she stationed herself by the door awaiting Snape's return. She thought of the letter Harry had sent, pretending to be Professor Trelawney. After a long discussion the Trio had decided to forge Trelawney's handwriting and sent the letter to Snape, using one of the school owls, which made it extremely difficult to trace the origin of the letter. This, she had to admit, had been a brainwave on Ron's part.

She could just imagine Snape storming up to the North tower, only to be told by a dreamy Trelawney that he had been mistaken – she had sent no letter, but that thanks to her crystal ball, she had already known that he would pay her a visit. Snape would no doubt be furious, and would think that being the airy-fairy kind of witch Professor Trelawney was, she had probably forgotten what it was she wanted to discuss with him. Hermione hoped Snape would never find out that the letter had been a fake, and comforted herself with the thought that Harry had made a very good job of forging the divination teacher's handwriting. By now, Hermione guessed that Snape would probably be on his way back, in all probability with steam coming out of his ears. Bracing herself, she waited, and after a while, the sound of swift footsteps coming towards the office reached her. Then, as she had expected, the door was flung open and she slipped sideways out of the musty office. She straightened up in time to see the white pinched face of Professor Snape glowering at the empty corridor before slamming the door to his office with a bang.

Relieved, Hermione was just about to take a step forward when something hit her hard from behind, sending her sprawling on the cold stone floor. A shout made her whip round to stare in horror over her shoulder. Draco Malfoy was picking himself up from the floor and looking wildly around. As she watched transfixed, he knocked loudly on the door to Snape's office. The door was once again flung open and there stood Snape scowling. On seeing Malfoy however, his face relaxed and to her dismay, she heard Malfoy ask,

"Professor, I was just walking along, when I hit something which tripped me up. Has anyone just been to see you?"

"No, there hasn't been anyone to see me. Did you see the person?"

"No, that's it. I didn't see anyone. Whoever it was just disappeared, and I didn't get a look at them."

"Interesting, very interesting," murmured Snape thoughtfully. "Did you feel what it was?"

"Well, it was solid, if that's of any help!" Malfoys eyes roamed round the dimly lit passage as he spoke.

"Hmm, I wonder if this has something to do with Potter? I can just sense it…" A threatening sneer laced Snape's voice as he spoke.

Hermione waited to hear no more. Turning, she ran as quietly as she could up the corridor, her heart doing a drum roll in her chest. What if Snape decided to check his store cupboards and put two and two together as only he could? Dashing up the stone steps to the entrance hall, she collapsed behind a pillar, her chest heaving with fright as well as lack of oxygen. She leaned against the pillar, and wiped perspiration from her brow. Only now, did she notice her heart was beating very fast and her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to calm down. The operation was over, and if she didn't get back to Gryffindor tower soon, she would probably get caught by Filch or Mrs Norris, his filthy cat, and get sent to detention for the next month before she could utter a word in her own defence. And _that_ was not taking into account what Snape may do to her, if he were to find out that she had pilfered from his stores.

XoXoXoXo

"Well, that looks absolutely disgusting!" Ron announced, scrunching up his nose and staring down at the mud coloured mixture at the bottom of the cauldron. Straightening up, he massaged the small of his back, which by the look of him was causing him a lot of pain.

"Are you all right, Ron?" Hermione asked, "What's wrong with your back?"

"I hurt it last night – I think I stretched a muscle or something when doing those exercises."

"But I thought you had got the hang of them. I mean you were fine with them before, so what happened last night?"

Ron scowled before saying, "Well, if you must know, I didn't do them for a day or so – you know, too much work and stuff – and well, last night, my back protested. You know how it is."

"Well, I won't even bother telling you what I think of that! You could have done yourself a major injury. Those exercises are there for a reason…"

"Skip the lecture okay?" Ron snapped, "I know full well what those damned exercises are for, but we all make mistakes once in a while, so stop behaving holier than thou!"

"Why don't you both shut up?" Harry snapped, "We are all on edge here. Taking our nerves out on each other won't get us anywhere. Now, let's do what the book says and go through the exercises one more time before drinking the potion."

Scowling, Hermione turned away, and going over to an empty corner of the bathroom, lay down on the cold hard floor. She closed her eyes trying to empty her mind of everything so she could concentrate on the series of exercises she Ron and Harry had been practicing over the last year and a bit. In her mind's eye, she pictured her legs getting longer and longer. The stretching feeling in her legs told her she was doing it right, and without having to look at her legs, she knew that they had grown well over a foot. Once again she pictured them, now back at their normal length. Opening her eyes, she was relieved to see that she had done the exercise right.

A sharp poke in the side made her turn to see one of Harry's arms jammed in to her ribs. His eyes were tightly closed and it was obvious that he was doing the same exercise as Hermione, but using his arms instead. Grinning, Hermione moved away from him and turned her attention to her own arms. Repeating the exercise on her arms, hands, feet, hair, and back, she finally sat up to see Ron and Harry still with their eyes shut. As she watched, Ron's mop of red hair seemed to shoot out of his head and then back in again. Both boys opened their eyes at the same time, and getting to their feet, stretched before turning to her.

"It's now or never," Harry said nervously.

"OK, are we ready?" Ron asked wearily.

"Yes, I think so," Harry replied. "I think we've done all the preparations right. I don't know about you two, but I just want to get this over with."

"Remember both of you," Hermione reminded the boys, "if it all goes well, it will take about ten seconds for each of us to turn into our given animals. All we have to do to transform back is to imagine our human selves again. The exercises should have made us more supple, so the transformation should be easier."

This remark was met with a snort from Ron, who grumbled, "Well, if we aren't supple now, I don't think we'll ever be. We've been practicing growing and shrinking various parts of our bodies for the last sixteen months! No wonder not many people are thick enough to want to become an Animagus!"

Ignoring him, Hermione ladled large dollops of the sludgy mixture into three glasses and handed one each to Ron and Harry. "Ready?" she asked nervously, "One, two, three."

At three, not stopping to think, she pinched her nose with one hand, and downed the potion in two gulps. Immediately, she felt herself shrinking, but this time rather than just one part of her, her whole body seemed to be folding in on itself. There was a strange feeling all over her body as though hair was sprouting on it, her limbs felt as though they were being pulled in ten different directions at once and even her face felt on fire. She could see nothing – there seemed to be a strange mist in front of her eyes, which was not helping in the least. She could no longer feel her arms, and wondered if she was slowly dying. 'Oh god,' she thought, 'this is just like the Polyjuice potion.'

She could feel the hardness of the floor through her feet, and for some reason, was finding it difficult to grip the smooth floor. As suddenly as it had started, it was over. Hermione stood stock-still and reluctantly opened her eyes. She could see the marble tiled floor but was having problems in making out the shapes of the individual tiles. 'This is strange,' she thought, turning her head. Frowning, she took a tentative step forward towards the full-length mirror, but could feel her feet sliding beneath her. Finally after several unsuccessful attempts, she reached the mirror and stared at her own reflection. Looking back at her was a smallish Tawny Owl, whose eyes were large liquid pools of astonishment, residing in a round face. There were cream, pale brown and gold patches adorning the whole of her body and twisting round, she could see her wings; wide and rounded, hanging limply on either side of her. She glanced down at her legs and saw talons protruding from her feet should be – no wonder she was having difficulty gripping the smooth floor. With out thinking, she turned to where she had last seen Ron and Harry, but they were no longer there. Instead, a very confused looking Peregrine Falcon stared back at her, the white on its cheeks and chin accentuated by the dark grey of its plumage. Its long powerful wings were folded close to its body and from where she stood, Hermione could make out its buff coloured under parts.

'That's odd' she thought, 'I can see every detail of the Falcon, but I can't make out the shapes of the tiles on the floor.' Standing beside the Peregrine Falcon, looking just as confused was a golden Eagle, the light from the window glinting on its pale golden brown head. The rest of its body was dark brown, with a cruel looking hooked beak and yellow talons similar to her own and those of the Peregrine. Raising its broad wings, the Golden Eagle took flight and soared effortlessly over to the mirror, where Hermione was standing. It stood next to the owl and stared at its own reflection in the mirror.

"Look at you both," Hermione gasped, but the only sound that came from her mouth was a "Hoooohooohoho". As she stared, the beak of the Peregrine twitched as though it was grinning, and then it too raised its powerful wings gliding over to join the other two at the mirror. All three raptors gazed at their reflections, and eventually, the Peregrine turned and flew away from the mirror, landed nearby, and closed its eyes, ready to transform back into Ron or Harry, Hermione was not sure which. As Hermione watched, the upper part of the falcon's body stretched, shooting upwards, and the wings changed into arms. The long slender legs and feet elongated in to those of a human and a mop of red hair shot up from the crown of the bird's head. A second later, Ron stood grinning down at them, looking a bit pale but otherwise perfectly calm.

"Well, it'd be nice if you transformed today. Honestly you're like a couple of women, the way you're gazing at yourselves like that!" he regarded them haughtily, a superior smirk playing about his mouth.

Harry then stepped away from the mirror and he too, transformed back into his human shape. Closing her eyes, Hermione pictured her own body, and before she knew what was happening, felt her limbs stretching, and the wings on either side of her body reshaping themselves into arms. Just as she began to wonder when it would all stop, she found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror staring at her own reflection.

"That was absolutely amazing!" came Ron's voice from behind her. "Don't you think so Hermione?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. I just can't believe we did it, all three of us!" she agreed feeling slightly stunned. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry bit his lip, but unlike Hermione and Ron, was not smiling.

"Well, I know this sounds stupid, but I was hoping I'd turn into a stag like my dad, or something similar, instead I'm an eagle."

"Yeah, and what's wrong with that?" Ron asked frowning.

"There's nothing wrong with it," Harry replied, "After all, eagles are fast and powerful birds, but I don't know…" he shrugged.

"Look at least we've done it, I mean we're all pretty powerful birds and after a few practices, we'll be able to transform within a second. Not many people can achieve this, Harry!" Hermione smiled at the bespectacled boy, trying to pull him out of his gloomy train of thought.

"Yeah!" agreed Ron. "Just imagine, scratching Malfoy's eyes out, if he annoys us!" Ron grinned. Instead of grinning back, Harry sighed, before turning away and fixing his gaze on the window.

"Harry," Hermione said tentatively, "I know it must have been a disappointment for you not to become a stag like your father, but you're a different person from him. You must remember that. You do share fifty percent of your genes with him, but you aren't him and that is what you have to keep in mind. You have no control over the animal you become, and eagles are noble birds as well as pretty fast flyers."

"I know," Harry nodded sombrely. He turned from the window to face his best friends, "You're right of course, but I've spent so much time fantasizing about being a stag, it'll take a while to get used to the idea of being a different animal."

"Cheer up," Ron consoled, "we can have loads of fun! I mean we're all birds and can fly over the grounds whenever we feel like it once we have mastered our wings, and this way, we hopefully won't meet any unpleasant creatures, which may be lurking about the grounds and forest at night." Even Harry, smiled at this enthusiastic piece of logic, and Ron continued, "Of course, we're going to need some practice in flying, but I'm sure we'll all get the hang of it soon, and then we'll be away!"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Hermione agreed doubtfully, "I just hope Snape doesn't realise it was us who took all that stuff from his stores again, because if he does, I don't want to think about the consequences."

"Maybe we can scratch his eyes out too," Ron suggested hopefully, "You know, kill two birds with one stone and all that!"

"What we need to do now," Hermione rebuked shooting a meaningful glare in Ron's direction, "is practice transforming until we can do it without the help of the potion. According to the book, the more we practice, the less painful it's suppose to be. Therefore, I think that should be the first thing we need to concentrate on. We can worry about learning to fly later, once our bodies aren't wracked with pains."

"I suppose so," grumbled Ron wincing, as he attempted to stretch his protesting muscles.

XoXoXoXo

The crowds surrounding Ron, Hermione and Harry were inching their way towards the Great Hall. It was dinnertime and Hermione could feel weariness descending on her. Like Ron and Harry, she had spent most of the previous day practicing changing into her Animagus form and back again. The first few times, she had needed the potion, but now she was able to manage the transformation without its aid. To boost her morale even further, it was becoming easier to transform – she could now do it without wincing in pain.

"Bloody hell," Ron grumbled, "At this rate, we won't reach the Great Hall 'til tomorrow! Why're they all moving so slowly?"

"Why Weasley? Are you that hungry? Oh but I forgot, your parents don't have enough money to even feed you, let alone buy you decent robes!" a drawling voice sneered. It was Draco Malfoy with Crabbe standing behind him.

Ron Harry and Hermione all turned to face Malfoy, glaring at him.

"You take that back you little…" Ron began and without thinking, pulled out his wand.

Hermione groaned inwardly and before Ron could do any damage, leaned over to try and pull the wand out of his hand, but his grip was too tight.

Pulling out her own wand, with the intention of disarming him, she had just raised it, when Crabbe's grating voice shouted, "_Accio_!"

Hermione's wand flew out of her hand into Crabbe's outstretched one. Grinning maniacally, he turned triumphantly to Malfoy. However, just as he opened his mouth to sneer, he let out an ear splitting yell, dropping the wand. He clutched his hand, moaning in pain. From where she stood, Hermione could see that he was in considerable pain – the wand must have discharged some negative energy and hurt him in some way. Ducking, she quickly grabbed up the wand, stuffing it into her robes before anyone could stop her. Around them, students were pointing at Crabbe, who was now whimpering in pain.

Grabbing Crabbe's hand, Malfoy held it up to the light, and Hermione could see a large red scar running across the middle of his palm. There was a collective gasp and people began backing away from the five of them. Turning to face Ron, Hermione and Harry, Malfoy demanded, "Who was it? Which of you did this?"

Before anyone could say anything, Crabbe pointed a shaky finger at Hermione crying, "It was her, the mudblood! She burned me with her wand!"

"What's going on here?" Everyone turned to see Professor McGonagall striding towards them, an angry expression marring her face. 'Brilliant,' Hermione thought, 'this is all I need.'

"Mr. Crabbe, what has happened to your hand?" McGonagall now asked.

Predictably, Malfoy spoke up saying, "Professor, it was Granger. We were just walking along, when they—" he pointed to Ron, Harry and Hermione, "—just turned on us! To defend himself, Crabbe took Granger's wand, which burned him!"

"Is that true Miss Granger?" the stern looking witch, turned to Hermione.

"Not at all, Professor," Hermione defended herself, "I didn't do anything. Crabbe just grabbed my wand without my consent, and for no reason."

McGonagall peered down at her, a suspicious look in her eyes. Finally, she said, "I do not know why the wand would behave like that. However, I'm sure there is a rational explanation for it. But getting back to the matter at hand," she paused, looking intently at the five students before her, "I believe I've made myself clear about this – you are old enough to behave like proper adults, and you are all well aware by now, having been at this school for almost seven years, that it is forbidden for students to perform magic in the corridors. There's simply no excuse for this. I will have to take five points from each of you for this, and let this be a warning to you," her eyes narrowed menacingly behind her glasses, "If I ever see any of you brawling again, it will be fifty points and a detention! Mr. Crabbe, report to Madam Pomfrey to get your hand treated." With that, she turned and marched off, carving a path through the gaping students.

The students began to disperse now the drama was over, but Hermione stood rooted to the spot. She felt slightly sick; her wand had burned someone because she didn't like them, but more than that, it had happened in public with most of the student body watching. Mr Ollivander, had expressly told her not to let anyone see how powerful her wand was and now…

"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry's voice intruded into her thoughts. Looking up, she saw him frowning down at her a look of concern on his face. "Don't worry, that git got what he asked for! But how did you do that?"

"That Potter, is what we'd all like to know," Malfoy broke in.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry spat, "Hermione, come on, let's go!" So saying, he took her arm and began leading her down the marble staircase, into the Great Hall, which was packed with students.

Hermione felt numb. She could not believe what had happened and desperately wished she had not taken her wand out of her robes in the first place. She was only vaguely aware of going through the motions of filling her plate with food and attempting to eat. The food felt like sawdust in her mouth, almost choking her. Around her, everyone was talking excitedly about the incident, and speculating in loud voices as to how her wand had managed to burn Crabbe without her instigation. The more she listened to them, the more she could feel ice-cold dread taking hold of her insides. Finally, when she could stand it no longer, she pushed back her chair and got up from the table, telling Ron and Harry she wasn't hungry. She had to get away, to think about this and to assess the damage. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn't notice Malfoy get up from the Slytherin table and leave the Hall at the same time as herself.

It was only as she headed up the marble staircase, that she became aware of someone following her. Spinning round, she saw him standing on the stairs, a few steps below her, and a look of suppressed triumph on his face. She felt her blood rung cold; this was exactly what she had been dreading, someone such as Malfoy putting two and two together.

"What do you want?" she asked in a tight voice.

"You know what I want," he replied quietly. Reaching her, he took her arm and turning her about, forced her to walk ahead of him up the stairs. She could feel real panic beginning to take hold; why had she left the Great Hall without Ron and Harry? Everyone was in the Great Hall and the chances of a teacher seeing the two of them were very remote. She had to keep calm and be rational; he couldn't hurt her. After all, what was the worst Malfoy could do? Hex her? Not even he would be that stupid to risk getting caught by Professor McGonagall after that incident in the corridor.

"Let me go!" she said, trying to wriggle free from his steel-like grip.

"Granger, I'm much stronger than you are. I could just as easily pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and get you to come with me. If I were you, I'd come quietly."

"You complete git, how dare you do this?" she retorted but to no avail.

"Easily," he drawled, calmly pushing her before him into a deserted classroom. Shutting the door and leaning against it, he asked, "Can I see your wand?"

"No, you bloody well can't!" she snapped. "If you really feel the need to acquaint yourself with the structure of a wand, then I suggest you look at your own! After all, you _do_ have your own, don't you? Or did Mummy and Daddy think you couldn't handle one?" she smirked.

"I'm trying to keep this friendly Granger. So I'll ask you again; can I see your wand?"

She became aware of the note of underlying steel in his voice. Maybe it would be better to let him see it; after all, what could he deduce from the wand alone?

"Why do you want to see it?" she asked biting her lower lip. "It's just a normal wand, just like yours." As she spoke, she allowed her eyes to travel around the disused classroom. Desks were piled against the walls and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. There was no chance she could get out using one of the windows, which looked as though they hadn't been opened in an age.

"The wand, if you please," he demanded politely, his eyes never leaving her face. She felt like a cornered mouse, as she reluctantly drew out her wand and handed it to him. Raising it to his eyes, he peered closely at it, his gaze travelling from one end to the other, as though he were trying to look right through it.

"You know, I was positive your wand was made of Vinewood, but this one is made of a hardwood… mahogany or teak." To emphasize his point, he tapped the wand against his palm. "Yes, this is definitely a hardwood. Where's your old wand?" he asked, looking up at her.

"What old wand?" Hermione countered, frowning. "What're you going on about Malfoy? Honestly, you aren't making any sense!" She gave a sigh of irritation, "I have had this wand from the age of eleven. If I could have my wand back now, please!" She held out her hand for the wand but Malfoy merely ignored it.

"For an old wand," he murmured, stroking his index finger along the grain of the wood, "it's remarkably free of scratches. There is neither a scratch nor dent in sight."

Hermione traced Malfoy's finger with her eyes. "Look, just give me my wand back, all right?" she tried to reason with him, knowing that it was futile. As if suddenly realising the incongruity of it, she snapped, "Anyway, who told you my wand was made of Vinewood?"

Ignoring the question, Malfoy looked at her curiously; "So tell me, Granger, how did you manage to burn Crabbe like that?" As he spoke, he handed the wand back to her, but still did not move away from the door and her only means of escape.

"I put a burning charm on my wand," she lied, "you know as well as I do, what the charm does; it stops people like you from using wands which do not belong to them. I got the idea from a book, and by god it has paid off!"

"If what I know is correct, burning charms as you call them, require the caster to be a very powerful witch or wizard. The spell isn't easy to cast, owing to the complex incantation and wrist action involved when casting the charm. Why would you want to put such a spell on your wand? What is it about your wand that it needs such a form of protection?"

"Honestly, so many questions, Malfoy," she retorted. "Really, at the rate you're going, you'll have to be admitted to St. Mungo's for over-taxing your brain!" Hermione sneered. "Firstly, you have no right whatsoever to stand here and question me as though you're some figure of authority, and secondly, the burning charm is a commonly used form of protection, employed by many of the wizarding population as a means of ensuring their wands don't fall into the wrong hands, or weren't you aware of this fact?"

"Of course I was aware of it you little idiot," he snarled, "Who isn't? No, there've been some very strange things going on concerning you, and I'll be dammed if I'll rest before I find out what you're up to. Believe me, this is by no means over!" so saying, he turned, yanked open the door and left the room in a swirl of black robes.

Hermione stood staring blankly at the open door and then she turned, left the dusty room and trudged up six more floors to Gryffindor tower and Sanctuary.

Passing through the full common room, she climbed up the final spiral staircase, undid the wards on her room and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in the pillow. Behind her, the door closed with a loud and welcoming snap; she was all alone to scream and cry as much as she wanted. For a while she lay there motionless and spent, her eyes gritty with unshed tears. Slowly she felt her defences begin to crumble, and the tears were finally allowed free rein. They streamed down her face in a torrent of salty water, and her body was wracked in shuddering sobs.

Why her? Why couldn't it be someone else who was different - who had been pronounced gifted at the age of four? Who was forced to compete with children at least two years older than her? And even now, when she thought all was going well, and she was finally fitting in with her peers, why had she been told that she was a Lestintia with remarkable magical powers? It wasn't fair! It simply just wasn't fair. All she wanted was to live a normal life, and be normal with nothing to worry her, but instead she had this to deal with. Furthermore, to add to the stress, there was absolutely no one she could talk to, to confide her fears in, and from whom to seek advice or help.

She must have lain there for over an hour before her thoughts finally arranged themselves into a semblance of some order. Pushing her hair away from her face, she could feel her usual optimism taking control of her once again. She wondered what Malfoy had meant by his last threat, but whatever it was, she would rather die, than tell him about her wand.

She had the certain feeling that his father had probably put him up to this. She could just imagine Lucius Malfoy's hurt pride and need to lash out at someone. No doubt he had asked Draco to find out what she had been doing in Diagon Alley that day, so that he could use the information for his own nefarious purposes. Well, he would be sadly disappointed; no one would ever find out what she had been doing that day, and especially not the Malfoys! Getting up, she went into the bathroom and splashed cold water over her face. Tomorrow evening, she would be starting her first lesson with the tutor Dumbledore had hired for the purpose. She was determined not to let Malfoy or his threats get to her, and hopefully before too long, she would learn how to control her extra powers and then Lucius Malfoy and his son would no longer be sneering! Smiling at this thought, she turned her attention to the mounting pile of homework she had neglected over the last two days. She wiped Malfoy senior and junior from her mind, as she prepared to tackle the weekly essay from Professor Binns.


	7. Chapter 6

Authors Note: sorry for the late update, but like the rest of the world I was too busy reading book five to worry about my own story. As ever thanks to my beater for making this readable and enjoy!

Chapter six

Studying herself closely in the full-length mirror, Hermione adjusted her hat for the tenth time before impatiently turning away, scooping up her bag. 'Honestly,' she thought, 'I am behaving as though this were my first date, rather than a private tutoring session.' True, she acknowledged, she was feeling very nervous, but standing in front of the mirror, gawping at herself would not help in the least. After all, the neatness of her appearance would not dictate how well she would do in her session now would it?

Straightening her shoulders, she swung her bag on to her back and marched out of the room, resisting the temptation to glance back at herself in the mirror. As she hurried down the spiral staircase towards the Gryffindor Common Room, she could not stop her thoughts straying to the ordeal ahead. In his note, Professor Dumbledore had not told her who her tutor would be, simply telling her to meet him in his office at 6:30 that evening. Hermione just hoped she was up to the task he had set her, and that his faith in her abilities was justified.

Reaching the portrait hole, she clambered through and set off for Dumbledore's office. Around her, students were making their noisy way back to the tower from dinner, pushing and jostling each other in their attempts to reach the portrait hole first. Ploughing her way through them, she tried not to think of the coming lesson, but focused her attention instead on the people thronging up the corridor towards her. All were talking in loud voices and some were gesticulating wildly as they talked. Finally, Hermione reached the Gargoyle and giving the password, waited while it moved aside to reveal the moving staircase leading to Dumbledore's office. Stepping onto the staircase, she swallowed down the nerves threatening to choke her, making a valiant effort to compose herself. As she raised her hand to knock on the polished oak door to the office, it swung open to reveal Dumbledore smiling down at her.

"Miss Granger, come in, come in!" So saying, he stepped aside and ushered Hermione in to his spacious office. "Please take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Nervously, Hermione sat down beside the huge desk, clasping her hands in her lap. A slight sound to her right had her turning her head to reveal a man lounging against one of the large windows. From what she could see of his profile, he was tall with a lean build. As Professor Dumbledore shut the door, the man turned to face the room. Tall and powerfully built, Hermione judged his age to be around fifty. He had dark thick hair, which curled slightly at the nape of his neck. His eyes were dark fathomless deep pools, which held a brooding intense look, giving Hermione the feeling of being able to look right through her. His mouth was set in a hard grim line and Hermione knew without being told, that this was a man not to be crossed.

Going over to the desk, Dumbledore lowered himself into the large leather chair behind it, regarding Hermione thoughtfully through his half-moon glasses before smiling.

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm glad to see you could make it this evening. I would like to introduce Quentin Trimble to you who has kindly agreed to tutor you. Quentin?"

Hermione stared open mouthed at the stranger, who stared right back at her. Then realising what she was doing, she quickly closed her mouth, and stuck out her hand, which the man took in a cool firm grasp.

"Miss Granger, it's a pleasure to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you, although I must say you are younger than I had envisaged."

"Erm well, I suppose so," Hermione began, and then curiosity getting the better of her, she blurted out, "Are you the Quentin Trimble who wrote '_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self Protection_'?"

"The very one. So does this mean you have read that particular book?" he asked raising a sardonic eyebrow at her.

"Oh yes," she gushed, "it was one of the set books for our first year, but I've recently also read '_Dark and Light: The Origins of Complex Magic_' and '_The Lure of the Dark_'."

A silence followed this announcement and finally Quentin Trimble drawled, "Interesting. Both those books deal with highly complex magic, the likes of which are definitely not taught at Hogwarts. But then again…" he shrugged and turned to Dumbledore saying, "We had best get started, I don't know how long this is going to take. Where will the lessons take place?"

"There's a nice room I've had ready," Dumbledore smiled, "Follow me."

He turned and led them out of the room, down the spiral staircase, past the Gargoyle and along the corridor. Hermione found herself almost having to run to keep up with the long strides of the two men, but half way down the corridor, Dumbledore came to a stop. He pushed open the door to a deserted classroom, which Hermione recognised as being the one that Malfoy had dragged her into, after her last visit to Dumbledore's office. Her heart sank; the room looked just as dirty as before – dust coated the windows, making the light, which managed to filter in through the filthy panes murky; cobwebs were everywhere, covering every surface, and the floor could hardly be seen beneath a layer of dust so thick it looked solid. Quentin Trimble too, looked around the dingy room in obvious disgust; only Professor Dumbledore was still smiling.

"Do not judge by appearances!" he said going over to a filthy blackboard on which he laid his hand and indicated that Hermione and Quentin Trimble do the same. Intrigued, both stepped forward and each reluctantly laid a hand on the grimy surface of the blackboard. Dumbledore took out his wand, and tapped the blackboard three times with its tip. Immediately, the blackboard as well as their hands began to glow a bright yellow, and then just as suddenly, Hermione felt a familiar tug behind her navel and her feet left the ground. She closed her eyes, but before she could consider panicking, her feet hit solid ground. Opening her eyes, Hermione found herself in a large spacious room which, as well as being light and airy, looked extremely comfortable. A large log fire dominated one wall giving out a welcome heat. The floor was covered with bright rugs in shades of deep blue and green. There were a few large very comfortable looking armchairs scattered round the room, each of which looked as though it could hold two people with ease. The walls were dotted with paintings of landscapes, and a few books were piled on a large table by one of the windows.

"As you've probably gathered, that blackboard is a portkey which will transport you to this room when you need to use it. It will recognise the palms of your hands and so only you can be admitted into this room. Miss Granger, I need not tell you how important it is that no one find out what you are doing, especially the whereabouts of this room. The actual location of this room is known only to me, and you leave it by means of that painting." He indicated a painting of a grey mountain, capped with white snow, over Hermione's right shoulder. "You'll be transported back to the small alcove just beneath the stairs leading to the hospital wing. Also, this room has a silencing, as well as a shielding charm on it, just in case anyone does come across it by accident. I think that's it. Is there anything else you require, Quentin?"

Quentin Trimble, who had been looking interestedly round the room, shook his head tersely before stalking over to the pile of books by the window.

"Well, if that's everything, I will leave you to get on with it. Go easy on her, Quentin – she is rather young. And Miss Granger, good luck, and don't worry if you can't meet the standards Quentin expects of you – he is known to be a hard task master!" So saying, Dumbledore touched the painting of the mountain, and disappeared.

"Well, don't just stand there, take a seat and you can tell me about yourself!" Quentin Trimble's voice cracked through the room like a whip, causing Hermione to start, before looking at him. He stood leaning against one of the large windows, a cynical eyebrow raised.

Going over to one of the large armchairs, Hermione sat down and to her relief, after a moment, he did the same.

"Now, before we start, there're just a few things I want to clear up; there's to be no formality here, you may address me as Quentin. Also, nothing said in this room will go any further, so you can scream and swear all you want," he shrugged and gave a smirk, "there's nothing I haven't heard before."

A silence descended between the two, as Hermione digested Quentin's words.

Looking exasperated at her prolonged silence, Quentin rolled his eyes and continued, "Well, Hermione? Is there anything you wish to say or to find out? You do know that if you don't ask, you won't know, don't you? So don't waste time standing on ceremony, wondering if you ought to ask a question." Satisfied that he had made his point, he leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out towards the warmth emanating from the fire.

"Erm, what do you want to know about me?" Hermione ventured timidly.

"Whatever you feel like telling me," he looked at her. "For example, how does it feel to be a _Lestintia_?"

Hermione bit her lip at the suddenness of the question, but then she reflected – this was not a man who minced his words. For a moment, she considered saying it was fine, and she had got used to the idea, but then a reckless rage took over her, and before she could think twice she let fly.

"Well, you know what? It feels absolutely bloody wonderful; suddenly being told that you have powers that only dark wizards are known to have. It feels damn bloody great knowing that you're different from all your peers – definitely something to gloat about. Oh, and to make it absolutely, positively perfect, these powers I'm suppose to have? I don't even know how to control them. So, yes – being a _Lestintia_ is really the most wonderful thing that's happened to me…"

Hermione went on and on, giving vent to the frustration, anger, fear and worry that over the course of the last few weeks, had built up inside her. She felt like a dam which having burst its banks, was allowing all the water it had so diligently held back, to flow away. As she ranted and raved about the injustice of the burdens she was expected to carry, she could feel herself beginning to relax. Her breath was coming more easily, and she could feel the anguish and worry seeping out of her bit by bit.

Finally, after ten minutes of non-stop talking, she fell silent, spent. Collapsing back into her chair, she focused on Quentin's face, which she now registered was smiling.

"Hmm, that is a lot for one small person to carry around. Tell me, have you not mentioned any of your fears to anyone else?" Quentin asked.

"What?" asked Hermione incredulously, "And be told I am weak or not fit to help Professor Dumbledore? Not likely!"

"I see," he responded leaning back in his chair, "Well, I have to marvel at your self control, most people your age would've cracked long ago, but then as you so rightly pointed out, you are different and therefore it is not surprising to find you handling it better than your peers would have. I must admit when Albus asked if I would tutor you, I was rather surprised. He did not, of course, mention the fact that you are a _Lestintia_ until I got here this evening, and I must say I'm impressed. It takes a lot for a person to be a _Lestintia_; I have only ever met one other before in all my travels, so meeting you, one might say is a bit of an eye-opener. Finally," he said raising a hand to forestall her,"it's not weak to admit you're afraid of something; on the contrary, it can make you into a stronger person. You have every reason to be afraid of your own talents – I would be, in your position, as you are dealing with the unknown. It's natural to be afraid of the unknown, and there's nothing wrong with allowing yourself the luxury of a tantrum or two."

He grinned, dispelling Hermione's nerves, and for the first time that evening she felt a sense of peace begin to take hold of her. Perhaps Quentin Trimble's bark was worse than his bite; his façade and demeanour making him appear much stricter than he actually was – Hermione fervently hoped so.

"I suppose you're right," Hermione conceded, "about being fearful of the unknown – I mean all these people expecting all these things from me, and being a _Lestintia_ on top of it –" she sighed, "Well, it hasn't helped."

"No, I don't doubt that at all, but that's the point of these lessons – to help you make the best of your extra magical abilities. I'm determined that by the time this school year draws to a close, you will have mastered your extra powers, and then we can begin to think of you joining the Order. Now to begin with, I just want to go through some basic charms and hexes. I want to see how good you are at what you already know before worrying about the extra curricular elements."

Getting up, he walked to the middle of the room and indicated Hermione do the same. Once they were both standing facing the table with the books on it, he started testing Hermione on basic charms – _Wingardium Leviosa_, cheering charms (using himself as the subject), Summoning charms, locomotion charms, and finally the Banishing charm. 'It is a good thing,' Hermione thought, 'that I am so good at Charms; otherwise this could be very embarrassing.'

"Very good, yes, very good indeed. I see what Albus meant about your magical prowess. Next, hexes. I presume you do know some?"

Half an hour later, Hermione stood exhausted in the middle of the large room. Quentin had tested her on all the hexes she, Ron and Harry, had ever learned, and a few that the other two did not know. She wondered dazedly if he would let her curl up on the floor and go to sleep, but even as the thought entered her head, she pushed it away. Quentin was not the type of person who would let her give up because of a mere trifle such as tiredness!

He was talking again, and with an effort, Hermione focused on him. "Good, now for the next interesting bit. I'm sure you're tired but tough enough to handle this. No one said this would be easy. Stand there," he indicated a point ten feet away from him, "and now it is my turn to throw some hexes at you! Due to your tiredness and probable nerves, I doubt you've noticed that none of your hexes or charms affected me at all!"

Hermione felt the colour begin to suffuse her cheeks; he was right, she had been so anxious to get the spells and the wrist movement's right, she hadn't paid much attention to Quentin, and how the hexes were affecting him. He grinned at her horrified expression and carried on speaking.

"I'll tell you the reason for the hexes not affecting me. Although I'm not a _Lestintia_, my magical abilities are strong enough for me to block the hexes you threw at me. Do you want to know how I did it?" Not waiting for an answer, he went on, "I refused to let them affect me. The body and mind are what you make of them, blocking involves will-power and determination. If you refuse to let a hex touch you, it won't, it is as simple as that," he paused, allowing Hermione to absorb these words. Continuing his lecture, he explained,"When your mind refuses to let the hex affect you, it puts up a barrier against it, and if this is strong enough, the hex can't get through. It's a bit like muggle Psychology. Anxiety Disorder, for example, is all in the mind; when a person is diagnose with the disorder, there's nothing physically wrong with them, the problem is with their mind – which for a variety of reasons, has been programmed to worry too much, thereby causing panic attacks and other not very pleasant symptoms. Muggle Psychologists treat the disorder with therapy – of which I believe there are a range – but all have one single purpose; to reprogram the mind into not worrying about trifles, thereby stopping the triggering of motor responses such as accelerated heart rate and so on."

"Yes, I've heard about that," responded Hermione pondering his words, "I mean according to my parents who are dentists, the mind is the most important part of the body, especially when it comes to control. Apparently, according to Dad, people can learn to ignore pain just because they keep telling themselves they can't feel it."

"Precisely," Quentin agreed, "the mind is the most important part of the whole body because it's the control centre. I aim to teach you to block hexes to begin with. After a while, every time you know someone is about to hex you, your mind will prepare you by putting up a barrier against it. It's this strength we must work on. I'm going to start with jelly-legs and as soon as I raise my wand, you're to tell yourself 'this hex can't hurt me', but make sure you believe it!"

So saying, he raised his wand and Hermione braced herself. Gritting her teeth in concentration, she thought 'this hex won't reach me, it won't!' The silence in the room made her glance at Quentin who was grinning back at her.

"I threw the hex at you a few seconds ago and it didn't even reach you! The beam of light fizzled out before it was within five feet of you. I'm very impressed! But I think that's enough for now," he sat down heavily, regarding her from beneath lowered lids.

"Of course, being good at magic does have its disadvantages and that's something I need to warn you about. I'm sure you are aware that there are certain people out there, mainly those of all-wizard backgrounds, who will resent someone such as yourself." Hermione nodded; an image of Lucius Malfoy's sneering face flashed in her mind's eye. "These people find it very hard to stomach the fact that you are more magically powerful than them. They have no qualms about doing anything to… er let's say, stop you?" Hermione nodded again trying to suppress a shiver at the memory of Lucius Malfoy's face when she had openly defied him in the bookshop. "Well, these days, they have no choice but to except those people with muggle origins, as it's becoming increasingly more difficult to have disease-free pureblood children. They're going to have to marry muggleborns such as yourself, to ensure their own bloodlines continue."

Hermione frowned. She had of course been aware of diseases such as Kurbs-Blood – there wasn't anyone she knew who didn't know what the disease meant. However, for people such as the Malfoys to actively encourage marrying a muggleborn – it was not only unthinkable, it meant that Kurbs-Blood was a more insidious threat – a greater cause of infant mortality, than the wizarding community would have people believe.

"Does this mean, that people like – oh, I don't know – the Nantons, for example, does it mean that they are looking to marry muggleborns, just so they can have disease-free offspring? That is… well, bad, for want of a better word."

"Exactly! That's exactly what I mean, so keep on your guard. You are a powerful witch, who would be an asset to any pureblood family," he warned. Noticing that Hermione's eyelids were drooping, he added gently, "Now it's getting late, so you'd better be off. We'll start training in earnest next week. This will give me time to do some research about the direction we'll go, now that I know what I'm dealing with. Would the same time suit you?"

XoXoXoXo

"Oh c'mon Hermione," Ron wheedled, "Just one flight, I mean it'll be so much fun! And since we all know how to fly now, it'd be pointless not to put the skill to good use!"

"No, Ron, I'm not flying around the grounds just for the hell of it. And anyway, I know that what you really want to do, is spy on the Slytherin Quidditch practice! How ethical is that?" At these words, Harry turned away from Hermione, focusing his eyes on a point above her head.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it spying," he began, "more like, checking out the opposition?" he grinned and continued, "and this way, they won't even know it's us sitting in the trees watching them making prats of themselves. Besides, it'll give us a chance to stretch our wings."

"Hermione, this has nothing to do with ethics, does it?" Ron asked, giving her a shrewd look, "You're scared aren't you?"

"Scared? How ridiculous can you get?" she defended herself, "What would I be scared of?" But even as she tried to deny Ron's claim, she could feel the colour creeping into her cheeks, staining them a deep pink.

"Oh I don't know," Ron looked thoughtfully at the sky, "Perhaps you're afraid of heights?" he teased. "Look, we'll be with you, and nothing can happen to you, if we're there as well. You need to get over this fear – what's the point of turning into your Animagus form if you're too scared to fly in the open?"

"I know," Hermione sighed, "but well, just looking down makes me feel queasy," she finally admitted.

"No one's saying it's going to be easy for you, but Ron's right, you have to get over this fear, and once you're over it, well imagine!" Harry made an expansive gesture with his hands, encompassing the three of them.

Hermione knew, of course, that they were right, but talking about her fear of heights was one thing, and actually facing it, was a completely different thing altogether! Ever since their first flying lesson, she had avoided getting on a broomstick as much as she could. Flying, she thought grimly, was one of those things you just couldn't learn from a book – damn.

"Well, if we're going to do it, we'd better go now, or their practice'll be over," Ron said, and turning to Hermione, he added, "Coming Hermione?"

Gulping, Hermione nodded dumbly before turning to face the window.

"Just keep calm, and spread your wings, your instinct'll do the rest," Harry assured her. "There's a large oak tree just behind the Quidditch pitch in which we can sit to watch. Remember – look carefully at what the Chasers are doing. Hermione, we'll both try and keep close to you, the tree isn't far and once you're in it, you'll be safe."

'It's just fine for him' Hermione thought, sarcastically, opening her bedroom window, 'he is a natural on a broomstick – I'm not!' Not giving herself any more time to panic and back out of the scheme, she stepped back from the window, closed her eyes and transformed. Immediately, she felt her body shrink, and tentatively raised her wings flapping them as Ron and Harry had shown her previously. She felt herself lift off the ground and with care, made her way over to the open window. Taking care not to look down, she flew through the window, catching her breath at the scene laid out below her.

Fang lay on the ground outside Hagrid's hut, with something dangling from between his teeth. Hagrid himself, was bent over what looked like a pile of crates attempting to lift them up without them toppling over. Behind them, the trees in the Forbidden Forest swayed in the slight breeze of the cool clear March day. Turning her head, Hermione could see the Quidditch pitch. There were indeed people training on it, although she could not make out the colour of their robes. Turning in the direction of the pitch, she made for it, taking care to fly round it rather than through the middle, thereby avoiding any stray Bludgers. Reaching the large oak tree situated at one side of the pitch, she landed gratefully on one of its wide branches, which she gripped with her talons. A rustling on either side of her, made her turn her head to see Ron and Harry making themselves comfortable on branches similar to her own. The foliage, now green and lush, hid them from view and all three had an uninterrupted vista of the Quidditch pitch and its occupants.

Hermione watched the Slytherin Chasers practicing throwing the Quaffle to each other, attempting what looked like the Hawks-Head attacking formation, if Harry's descriptions of the move were anything to go by. She had to admit that they were very good; their speed enhanced by the latest Nimbus broomsticks, once again purchased for them by Malfoy's father at the start of the year. Malfoy himself was weaving in and out of the others in search of the Snitch, which had taken refuge behind the right ear of one of the Chasers, whose name Hermione couldn't remember. As she watched, Malfoy zoomed towards the Chaser and his target, but the Snitch evidently, not wanting to be caught, flew off again, followed by an angry shout from Malfoy, who followed in hot pursuit. Beside her, Hermione was aware of the branch beneath her, shaking slightly as Ron did a jig of delight on his branch, causing the leaves on it to rub against her. Gripping her own branch more tightly with her feet, Hermione felt a pang of envy hit her; 'It must be nice,' she thought gloomily, 'not to be afraid of heights; in the secure knowledge you wouldn't panic if you looked downwards'.

Hermione was so busy watching Ron, she had no time to see the small black Bludger coming straight for her; Harry's harsh cry was lost in the pain of impact. One moment, Hermione was frowning at Ron, and the next she felt a sharp pain in her side and she was falling! She had a terrifying glimpse of the ground coming towards her at an alarming rate before she passed out.

XoXoXoXo

"Shit! How'd that happen?" The voice was coming from somewhere above Hermione's head. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see a ring of people surrounding her. As ever when looking at something up close, she could not make out their features, which looked blurry, as though she were peering through a particularly foggy window. She could, however, make out the green of their robes; the Slytherin Quidditch team was surrounding her. At the same time, she became aware of the pain crippling her right side, and would have moaned in pain if she were in her human form.

"Well, what the hell are we gonna do with the stupid bird? We can't just leave it lying here; I say we finish it off, one quick _Avada Kedavra_, should do the trick," the speaker was a tall burly boy – one of the Chasers, Hermione thought hazily.

"Oh c'mon, that's a bit unfair. I mean it wasn't the owl's fault it got hurt now, was it? I say we take it to Hagrid and leave it there. He'll look after it!" Hermione swivelled her head to see Malfoy staring down at her. As he spoke, he bent down and gingerly picked her up, avoiding touching her right side. "By the looks of it, the Bludger hit the wing – look, it's all crushed!"

"Hagrid? That moron looking after an injured bird? Are you joking?" Hermione recognised the voice of James Hatfield, a Slytherin sixth year prefect. "If you want to do something useful, I suggest you take the dammed bird up to the hospital wing, so Pomphrey can deal with it. Hagrid'd probably eat the thing for dinner."

"I don't know what all the fuss is about," chimed in another voice Hermione didn't recognise, "I say leave the stupid thing here and let's get on with our game. We have to beat the bloody Gryffindors next week. Who cares about the bird? Chuck it into the forest and be done with it!"

"Oh c'mon, Tom, that's a bit mean!" snapped James Hatfield, "I don't know why the Bludger went after the bird, but we have to do something. Slytherins aren't that heartless, whatever the rest of the school may choose to think."

"Also, I've a nasty feeling that this owl belongs to that Brocklehurst girl," Malfoy said. "She'd kick up a stink if it went missing, and considering the fact our parents move in the same social circles, it would be better if we got it looked at. Anyway, this is a rather fine specimen of an owl, and I for one would feel bad if we did nothing to help it, considering it was our fault it got hurt in the first place."

"I hope for your sake Draco," one of the other Slytherins joined in, "none of the Gryffindors see this sentimental side of you – they'd rip you to shreds! You're beginning to sound like a girl, gushing over a bird," he teased,"Honestly! But then, you always did have a soft spot for them, didn't you?"

"I'm with Draco on this one," piped in another voice Hermione didn't know, "Let's take it to the hospital wing and be done with it. At least that way our consciences will be clear and we can rest easy."

"What I'd like to know," said the Chaser who had suggested using the _Avada_ _Kedavra_, "is why the Bludger went after the bird in the first place. I mean they never go after birds – only humans. I bet it was the bloody Gryffindors – they probably did something to it so it'd hit the bird and interrupt our practice session. Yeah, that's just the kind of thing they'd do – even more reason to get rid of the stupid bird!"

"Stop being so dramatic!" snapped James Hatfield, "You know as well as I do, the Bludgers've been locked up in Hooch's office, and it takes a lot more power than any of the Gryffindors possess, to tamper with them. This is just one of those freak accidents. Rather than stand around arguing, let's decide what to do with the bird, and get on with our practice. Merlin knows we need it!"

"Well, I'll leave you all to your argument. I'll take the owl up to Pomphrey. Anyone want to come along?" Malfoy asked the group.

"No, you go alone. The bloody bird doesn't need a bloody guard of honour!" the Chaser bit out spitefully.

Malfoy turned with Hermione still cradled carefully in his arms and made his way back towards the castle. Above them, Hermione could see Ron and Harry circling overhead, and then following them. But she knew that apart from watching and waiting, there was nothing any of them could do about the situation. As she watched, they disappeared from sight and she hoped they would transform and head straight for the hospital wing.

After what felt like an eternity but was only about ten minutes, Malfoy pushed open the door to the hospital wing with his foot and deposited Hermione on one of the beds. She felt her heart lift as Ron and Harry's voices floated to her from Madam Pomphrey's office and a few seconds later, the three of them emerged from it.

"Malfoy, you bloody git, what've you done?" Ron began, "What happened to the owl?" He gestured to Hermione as he spoke. Ignoring Ron, Malfoy turned to Madam Pomphrey, explaining briefly what had happened on the Quidditch pitch.

"Hmmm, let me see," she murmured, "well, you can all three go now, by the look of it, the bird's wing is broken. Mr. Potter, call in tomorrow, so I can have another look at that wrist. Now be off, the three of you. And Mr. Weasley, your language leaves a lot to be desired!"

Hermione watched the three boys leave the room, shooting malevolent glares at each other. Then, Madam Pomphrey began to prod and poke her, muttering to herself all the time. Eventually she jabbed Hermione's wing with her wand, and it mended instantly. Hermione could feel the pain receding and for the first time since the Bludger had hit her, could think clearly. She would have something to say to Ron and Harry when she got out of the hospital wing, but first, she had to figure a way to get out.

As though Madam Pomphrey could read Hermione's thoughts, she said in her motherly way, "Now, I'll leave you. No doubt you're anxious to get away." So saying she bustled out of the room.

Hermione wasted no time in making for the open window. Flying through it, she made for the side of Hagrid's hut, away from prying eyes and on landing, transformed herself back into her human shape. She could immediately feel the stiffness in her arm, but ignoring the discomfort, she set off back to Gryffindor Tower. She could not believe what had happened, but at the same time was finding it extremely difficult to suppress a smile. Imagine – Malfoy having a soft spot for birds!

The grounds were very quiet, bathed now in the golden glow of the moon. Reaching the oak front doors, Hermione pushed them open and made her solitary way back to Gryffindor Tower. As she walked, she replayed the last hour in her mind, promising herself to hex Ron and Harry into next year as soon as she set eyes on them.

The first thing she saw on entering the Common Room, was Harry and Ron's anxious faces; both leaped up at her entrance and followed her up to her room.

"What happened, Hermione? How did you fall off the branch?" Harry asked.

"A Bludger knocked into me. Honestly, I never want to go through that again! One of the Slytherins was all for hitting me with a curse to finish me off so they wouldn't have to bother with me!"

"Bloody Slytherins," Ron muttered, "they should be got rid of – the lot of them! We saw you fall and watched while they all argued over what to do with you – Merlin, that was scary!" Hermione noticed that his face was drained off all colour and smiled reassuringly at him, her earlier feelings of anger dissipating at his obvious distress.

"Well, it was Malfoy who insisted they take me up to the hospital wing. I'm surprised Madam Pomphrey agreed to look at me."

"Oh she isn't bad," Harry explained knowledgeably, "the thing with her is, she hates to see anything in pain and will help it if she can, I once saw her mending the leg of Millicent Bulstrode's cat. That was the day Lockhart deboned my arm, remember?"

"How could we forget?" Hermione rolled her eyes, "But what excuse did you use to go to the hospital wing? You know what Madam Pomphrey's like – she'd never allow anyone to loiter around there for no reason."

"Oh, she was more than anxious to let us stay," Harry told her grinning, "On our way up to the hospital wing, I accidentally on purpose banged my wrist, and consequently, it needed looking at!"

"I see," Hermione murmured, trying to keep down the lump that had welled in her throat, "Well, thanks – it was really nice of you."

"Well, you didn't think we'd trust Malfoy alone with you, would we? I mean he's such a bloody git!" Ron exclaimed hotly. Hermione simply shrugged resignedly, she didn't feel up to arguing with him just then.

XoXoXoXo

"Yeah, as I was saying," Mandy Brocklehurst gabbled leaning forward slightly, "Mum and Dad are really looking forward to meeting you. We're hosting a ball, but we've been invited to loads more. It'll be really great – just bring anything you like, I'm sure it'll be fine."

Hermione frowned worriedly at Mandy, "Well, if we could go into Diagon Alley at some point, I can get something from there. My old dress robes won't fit me anymore, and judging from the number of parties we seemed to have been invited to, I'll need at least three sets of new ones!"

"No problems, Hermione!" Mandy smiled, "we'll go to Diagon Alley at the start of the hols. I'm sure mum won't mind you using her designer to make the dress robes!"

"Well, if you're sure it's alright. I'd hate to impinge…"

"Don't be silly, she'll only be too pleased to help. I don't know if you have heard of her designer – Madam Tooley? Anyway, she makes all our robes and has a real talent in design. She knows exactly what colour will suit each individual."

"Talking about clothes again Miss Brocklehurst?" the scathing voice behind Mandy made both girls jump and whip round to see Draco Malfoy leaning indolently against a bookshelf, his habitual smirk playing around his mouth. "Honestly, what would old Pince say? Her two favourite bookworms sitting in the library discussing clothes!"

"What do you want?" Hermione snapped, shooting him a glare that could have done credit to a Basilisk. Trust Malfoy to turn up like the proverbial bad penny!

"Oh, nothing really," he replied casually, "I was just wondering what you two were doing, discussing clothes when there's work to be done," he waved an expansive arm over the jumble of books and parchment strewn over the table between Hermione and Mandy. "As a prefect, it's my duty to see people are using the library for its intended purpose, and not as a place for gossiping."

"Oh no, we weren't gossiping," Mandy muttered, her cheeks going a bright shade of scarlet, "we were just discussing the holidays. Hermione's coming to stay with me and we were just making plans." As she spoke, Hermione noticed her gaze was riveted on her hands, which were fiddling with one of her quills.

"Really?" Malfoy drawled with interest, "Is this true, Granger?"

"That Malfoy, is none of your business," Hermione snapped in response, "now why don't you run along and do some of that work you were going on about!"

"On the contrary, Granger, it is very much my business, for if you're going to be staying with the Brocklehursts, it's only right that we invite you to dinner at least once, at our Manor – you know, as a token of welcome into the wizarding community," Malfoy looked intensely at her.

Hermione stared back at him, not trusting herself to speak. A riot of emotions was running through her – anger and indignation, mixed with a feeling of an unease she could not explain. "I'll write to mother to let her know. We'll look forward to seeing you at the Manor," with a curt nod of his head, Malfoy turned on his heel, and strode out of the library robes billowing.

"Oh my god," Mandy gasped, "I don't believe it! The Malfoys are going to invite us to dinner?"

"What's so special about that?" Hermione finally found her voice to ask.

"Special? Honestly Hermione, it's special because in the wizarding community, people only ever invite you to dinner, if you are close friends, or if they want to impress you, or get to know you better. Wizards have parties and things, but these are very formal and loads of people are invited, making it impossible for the host to spend much time with all of them. But at a dinner! Wizarding dinners are totally different. For one thing, dinners to be much more informal. Oh mum and dad will be pleased at this! For years, they have been secretly hoping that –" she blushed and lowered her gaze, "well, that there may be a match between Draco and me, I mean…"

"And so far, the Malfoys have shown no interest?" Hermione asked, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"No, not at all. Perhaps now, things will change. I mean, he's very good looking, don't you think so?" Mandy asked her friend shyly.

"Oh I don't know!" Hermione muttered and shrugged, pulling a heavy book towards her and bending her head so that Mandy could not see her expression. She could feel a tight knot of dread forming in her stomach. What was Malfoy up to? She was sure his family's desire to spend an informal evening with the Brocklehursts had nothing to do at all with Mandy, but herself. The question was why? What was it about her that interested the Malfoys so much? She could clearly remember Lucius Malfoy's seemingly casual questions about her future, and his pre-occupation with her reasons for visiting Diagon Alley.

'Whatever it is the Malfoys want from me, they will not get it!' Hermione promised herself as she pulled a list of runes towards her, preparatory to translating them.


	8. Chapter 7

Authors Note: I am really sorry for the late update – pressures of life took over for a while. You may be please to know, I have started writing the next chapter so as to ensure I update more frequently. As ever, thanks to my beta, and please keep your comments and suggestions coming in – they are invaluable in their help.

Chapter seven

"I think that's about everything," Ginny said, glancing to where Hermione stood going through a pile of books. "There's no need for books. The Brocklehursts have a massive library – they're well-known for it and not even you could get through all the books they have there."

"I know," Hermione responded absently, "I just want to take one or two. After all, I can't raid the library on my first day there, now can I? I mean that would be pretty bad, even for my standards."

"Well, I suppose not. Anyway, if you find you don't have something you need, just transfigure it. Your transfiguration is more than good enough."

"Hmm… Yeah, I suppose so," Hermione muttered, and then abruptly putting her book down, turned to face Ginny in the shadowy evening light. "What the hell do I think I'm doing, agreeing to stay with someone who I don't know all that well? I mean, what if I muck something up or do something which they would consider as offensive?"

"Look, we've been through the etiquette thing lots of time now, so stop worrying! Just use your common sense and you'll be fine. Oh come on, if your friend had offered me the chance to stay in her manor for the holidays, I wouldn't be standing here worrying about trifles. Relax and enjoy it, you'll get to see how the upper echelon of Wizarding society live," she broke off as a loud knock sounded on the door and Ron's voice could be heard demanding entry. Going over to the door, she unlocked it to admit Harry and Ron into the unusually messy room.

"Blimey Hermione," Ron began, "this place looks as though Peeves has been having a field time in here!" He indicated the disordered jumble of items strewn haphazardly round the normally immaculate room. "You're only going for a few weeks, so what's with all this stuff?"

"Oh I was deciding what to take with me… you know, clothes and stuff."

"Hmm," Harry said, eyeing Hermione's trunk, which was bulging at the seams, "Well, by the looks of it, you've enough there to last you ten weeks, not two. Look, actually we dropped in for a reason." He and Ron exchanged a look and Harry went on, "See, the thing is, you say these people are pretty high class, you know, so we figured they'd most likely have house elves there, and well…" he trailed off at the expression darkening Hermione's eyes.

"And you're afraid I'll kick up a fuss about that?" she ground out, "Well, for your information, I'll be a guest at the Brocklehurst house and as such, have no right whatsoever to interfere in their domestic problems including house elves, anyway. Why are you two so worried? A few days ago, you were whingeing that I should have stayed here with you, so why the sudden change of attitude?"

"Oh, for god's sake," Ron snapped, "we're telling you this for your own good, not because we like the sound of our own voices. We just want you to have a good time there, that's all. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, I didn't say there was anything wrong with it…"

"Will you two just give it a rest?" Harry said irritably. "And that's the other thing we wanted to say before you left. We're sorry about giving you such a hard time about this – I guess it was the idea of you going away with a stranger that was worrying us a bit, right Ron?"

"Yeah of course, I mean we don't well want you to fall into…well, you know what I mean," Ron shrugged, fixing his eyes on his shoes.

"It's a shame you didn't apologise before," Ginny snapped glaring at the two boys, "now be off!" Turning to Hermione, she said, "I don't want to worry you or anything Hermione, but you have to be in the entrance hall in five minutes to board the horseless carriages, so I suggest you get a move on, or you really will be staying here with us, and all that research about etiquette and stuff will all go to waste!"

With a cry of horror, Hermione slammed shut the lid of her trunk, grabbed up her cloak and threw it over her shoulders. Pocketing her wand, she turned and began dragging the heavy trunk towards the door. With a deep sigh, Ron pulled out his own wand, directing it at the trunk, and a second later, had cast a charm on it making it feather light. Then he, Ginny and Harry followed the distracted Hermione down the spiral staircase and out of Gryffindor Tower.

"Well, make sure you Owl regularly," Ginny said, over the noise of students making their boisterous way towards the entrance hall. "We want to know exactly what you're up to, who you're meeting and everything."

Hermione simply nodded in response; her throat felt constricted and she could feel a stinging behind her lids. If it weren't for Ginny's help, her packing would never have been completed on time. As ever, Ginny, being her closest female friend, had helped her in any way she could, even though she was not thrilled at the idea of not seeing Hermione for the holidays. Hermione pushed her way through the crowds of students, her trunk floating behind her. Reaching the marble staircase, she hurried down it, closely followed by Ron, Harry and Ginny. At the bottom, she turned to them, and without a word, flung her arms around Ginny, whose eyes she noticed were unusually bright.

"Well, have a good time," Harry said, hugging her too, and lowering his voice to a whisper, muttered, "and for god's sake, keep your wand on you at all times. I know you think they are nice people and all that, but you can't be too careful."

Hermione nodded and was just about to open her mouth in reply, when a voice hailed her from behind.

"Hermione! There you are! I was getting worried, I mean I couldn't see you anywhere!"

Turning, Hermione saw the small figure of Mandy Brocklehurst waving at her. Giving Ron a quick hug, she turned and made her way over to where Mandy stood talking to a boy Hermione didn't recognise.

"OK, got everything?" Mandy asked, and at Hermione's nod, lead the way out the castle towards the horseless carriages standing in a line a few yards from the front steps. As Hermione went to climb into one, Mandy grabbed her arm, pulled her back, saying, "No, not that way, we aren't travelling on the train. Follow me, and walk in the shadow of the castle."

Bewildered, Hermione followed as Mandy made her way past the carriages, towards the greenhouses, and out of sight of the occupants of the castle. Going round to the back of the greenhouses, she stopped, turning to face Hermione. "If we travelled on the train, it would literally take hours to reach home. The train journey itself is at least six hours and then we have to travel by carriage another few hours to get home. So mum suggested that I use a portkey. You do know how they work?" At Hermione's slight nod, she went on, "I have to activate it by tapping it with my wand when we're ready to leave. I don't think Professor Dumbledore would mind, but as you know, the ministry frowns on portkeys ever since the Triwizard tournament, mum thought it best I didn't tell anyone about this. She even made me promise to do this out of sight," Mandy rolled her eyes. "Right, erm… let's see, tie your trunk securely to yourself and I will do the same." Producing two lengths of chord from her pocket, she handed one to Hermione and with the other, proceeded to fasten her own trunk securely to herself. Bemused, Hermione did the same – looping the chord twice round the trunk and then around her own waist, where she tied it in a sailor's knot.

"Wow, that's tight. How do you tie knots like that?" Mandy asked, staring curiously at the knot Hermione had just finished tying.

"Practice," Hermione replied with a cheeky grin.

"Well, if you're ready?" Fishing in her pocket, Mandy bought out a long stick offering one end to Hermione. "Hold tight!" she advised, and tapped the stick with her wand three times. For a moment, nothing happened, and then Hermione felt that all too familiar jerk behind her naval and her feet off the ground. Through a swirl of wind, drizzle and colour, Hermione could feel Mandy's shoulder banging into hers and closing her eyes, braced herself for the landing. With a thud, they slammed into the ground and promptly fell over. As Hermione landed awkwardly, she heard a loud hearty laugh and then strong hands were pulling her to her feet.

Opening her eyes, Hermione looked up in to the face of a tall, well-build man, with eyes as blue as Mandy's, and a smile which was as warm as it was charming. "You ok?" he asked.

"Yes, thanks," Hermione said, "sorry for stepping on your foot, I lost my balance."

"I'd say, you did a bit more than loose your balance, but never mind, you're here now. As my little sister seems otherwise occupied, I'll just introduced myself; David Brocklehurst at your service, and you must be Hermione."

"Yes, nice to meet you," Hermione said, trying not to smile at the incongruity of the situation.

"Right then. Let's untie you and then maybe we can shake hands." Grinning broadly, David started to unwind the rope securing Hermione to her trunk. "Blimey, you've done this well," he grunted, tugging on the rope, which seemed to have got stuck around the handle of the trunk. "Mandy, what are you doing?" he asked over his shoulder, between tugs of the rope knotted around Hermione.

"What does it look like?" Mandy snapped back.

Finally, after a lot of tugging, Hermione's rope came loose and David straightened up, massaging his knuckles.

Free from the ropes, Hermione turned to see Mandy sitting on the ground trying to untie herself from her trunk.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and come and help me?" she scowled at her brother. After a moment of mock deep contemplation, he sauntered over to Mandy and began unwinding the rope from around her.

Meanwhile, Hermione glanced around at her surroundings; they were on a smooth green lawn, which fronted a large, imposing house. This, Hermione guessed had to be Mandy's home. The house was built of grey solid stone, which looked centuries old. An ivy creeper could be seen clinging precariously to the house lending the grey stone a splash of vivid colour. To either side, the house stretched for what seemed like miles, although Hermione could detect what looked like an archway over to the right.

"Girls, you've made it. Oh, that's good!"

Hermione turned to see a woman hurrying towards them, her fair hair hanging in golden cascades around her shoulders. She was tall and willowy; her smile, broad and open. Dressed in close fitting robes that shoed off every curve of her slender figure, she reminded Hermione of one of the models regularly featured on the front cover of 'Witch Weekly'.

"Mum," Mandy cried, and in the next second, she was in her mother's arms.

Disentangling herself, Mrs Brocklehurst smiled at Hermione before bending down to kiss her on the cheek. "It is absolutely wonderful to have you here, my dear. Now come along inside out of the cold, there really is a nip in the air."

She led the way in to the house, through stained glass front doors. "I think it best if you two go to your rooms and get out of those robes, and then you can meet the rest of the family, before we have dinner," she said.

"Min?" At her call, a house elf appeared with a loud crack and stood surveying the two girls. Like the Hogwarts' house elves, Min was small and draped in what looked like a silk banner, one corner of which was emblazoned with the Brocklehurst family crest. Her ears were pointed, setting off a round good-natured face. "Min, take Hermione here up to her suite, will you? And make sure she has all she needs before leaving her. Min, my dear," she addressed Hermione, "is our resident house-elf. She is very efficient and if there is anything you need, just tell her."

Nodding, Hermione followed the smiling Min up a polished oak staircase, her trunk floating behind her. Reaching the landing, Min turned right down a long corridor, another right and then stopped in front of a set of double doors. Pushing them open, she ushered Hermione into a spacious sitting room covered with pale blue carpet. The walls were also blue, with large paintings of landscapes on them. A large fire burned in the grate and two large armchairs were pulled up to the fire facing each other.

"This is your suite, miss," Min said, bowing slightly, "Min is hoping it is to your liking. The bedroom is through there and the bathroom is on the other side of the bedroom. If you is needing anything, you is to pull that bell by the fireplace," she indicated a rope hanging beside the fire place, "and Min will come to you."

"Yes, thank you. It's all lovely," Hermione said, smiling at the elf that beamed in return. "Min, is that your real name?" she asked unable to suppress her curiosity any longer.

"Oh no miss, I is really Minty, but the family, they is shortening it to Min, see?"

"Yes, it's very nice."

"Miss Mandy, she is coming to take you downstairs when you is ready," Min went on, "is there anything else you is needing?"

"No, thanks. I have everything I'll need."

Smiling, Min bowed before exiting the room, leaving Hermione alone.

Glancing round the elegant, yet comfortable room, she went over to the door leading to the bedroom and peered in. This room too, was large with a four-poster bed placed in the centre. The carpet was a pale cream with blue patterns worked in to it. The walls and bedspread were blue and the whole room gave an impression of light and airiness. The floor length curtains at the window were made of cream velvet with blue tassels. Going over to the bed, she threw herself down onto it, stretching out. She had expected her own room, but never had she expected her own suite! No wonder Mandy was eager to return home during the holidays.

Getting up, she made her way to the bathroom and smiled. There was a huge full-length mirror on one side and the whole room was decked out in the same cream and blue shades which were present in the rest of the suite. Stripping off, she showered and then dressed hurriedly in a black top and trousers. She didn't want to be late on her first evening in the house and so in ten minutes, she was ready and waiting for Mandy to collect her.

Going over the large windows in her sitting room, she looked down at the grounds of the house, just visible in the pale evening light. Below her, lay a lawn as smooth as velvet. It was dotted here and there with large oak and birch trees, which judging from their age, looked to be as old as the house in front of which they stood. Green buds could be seen covering the branches of the trees. To her right, Hermione could make out what looked like a walled flower garden. Straining her eyes, she could just make out a climbing rose sprawled along the garden wall, when a knock sounded on the door. Turning, Hermione went over and opened it to see Mandy standing in the doorway, clad in jeans and a top.

"Ready?" Mandy asked. "Right, let's go and meet the clan!" she grinned excitedly.

Mandy lead the way down the stairs and into a large room decked out in pale yellow. "This is the informal drawing room where we all gather just before dinner and generally laze about."

The room was dominated by a fireplace, which took up almost the whole of one wall. Comfortable looking sofas were dotted around the room but Hermione's gaze was drawn to the grand piano standing to one side of the room. The polished rosewood of the case gleamed in the candlelight, making Hermione long to go over and run her fingers over the ivory keys. Her attention was diverted by a sound from behind her, and turning, she saw David entering the room with a pretty and very pregnant woman on his arm.

"Ah, girls," he said grinning, "so you're down then. Hermione, this is Madelyn, my wife." The woman standing beside him gave Hermione a guarded smile before extending her hand, which Hermione took, smiling in return. The arrival of Mandy's younger brother, Adrian, forestalled any conversation.

"Ah, so this is the famous Hermione, is it?" Adrian said, striding into the room and seizing Hermione's hand. "My god, you are even prettier than Mandy described! Well, welcome to Brocklehurst Manor, may your stay here be most enjoyable!" he said with a flourish, lifting Hermione's hand to his lips and placing a kiss on the back.

"Really Adrian, leave the poor girl be. I am sure she doesn't want you making a spectacle of her," admonished Mrs Brocklehurst, as she swept into the room, followed closely by a man who could only be Mandy's father. "I believe dinner is ready," she went on, and led the gathered family and guest out of the room into another, which was roughly the same size as the drawing room. This room had wood panelled walls and a large dining table in the centre.

"Hermione dear, make yourself comfortable – we don't stand on ceremony here."

"Hermione will sit beside me," Adrian said, pulling out her chair and pushing her down into it.

"Rather her than me!" David said, with a grin to his brother.

"Now, that isn't nice!" Exclaimed Adrian, adopting a hurt look, which fooled no one. "One would think, I had a contagious disease, the way you treat me dear brother!" Everyone apart from Mrs Brocklehurst laughed.

"Yeah you have," said David sniggering, "You're a Looney! The rest of us don't particularly want to catch it!" His wife glared at him and he dropped his eyes.

"Both of you grow up!" Snapped an exasperated Mrs Brocklehurst, "What will Hermione think of you, acting like a pair of two year-olds!"

Over dinner, the family caught up on all the girl's news, asking about Hogwarts and all the teachers. "I can still remember when I was a girl, Dumbledore was the transfiguration teacher at the time. Even then he was formidable if crossed." Mrs Brocklehurst said smiling reminiscently.

"Formidable only when you got on the wrong side of him—" her husband corrected her, "the man is a genius, the best wizard alive!"

"Yeah but he is a bit eccentric, with that long beard and hair. It's a wonder that he can keep the beard clean!"

"Adrian!" gasped his mother, while the rest of the table stifled their chuckles and grinned into their plates.

"Well, I'm only saying what I'm sure generations of students must have thought at some time or another!" Adrian retorted, his grin becoming if possible, even broader.

"Well, just don't let some of our friends hear you say that," said David stifling his own grin. "Most people think very highly of Dumbledore and with good reason. I can't see them being too pleased if they heard you calling him an eccentric."

The conversation flowed easily and everyone had plenty to talk about. Hermione found herself starting to relax and before she knew it, the meal was over and they were going back to the drawing room. She could feel tiredness creeping over her, like a warm enveloping blanket. All she wanted to do was curl up in her four-poster and sleep.

As though reading her thoughts, Mrs Brocklehurst said, "Girls, you both look dead on your feet, why don't you both turn in early?" Hermione didn't need telling twice; bidding everyone a polite goodnight, she made her way to her suite and sank thankfully into her comfortable bed.

ZoZoZoZo

"So you see, my dears, you both are going to have a very busy two weeks. I advise you to get all your schoolwork out of the way as soon as possible. That way, you will be free to enjoy the holidays and make the most of your free time."

"Yeah, that sounds good," Mandy said, distractedly. "How many balls have we been invited to again?"

"Mandy, I wish you'd listen. Really!" Mrs Brocklehurst shook her head, her lips pursed. "There will be the dinner party at the Nanton Mansion, one at Finchly Manor, the Ashworths' Ball, and of course the dinner at the Malfoys'. I would have held a ball here, but there just isn't time to fit it in with everything else that is going on!"

"Oh, not that damned castle," pouted Mandy, "Honestly Hermione, the castle's a gothic monstrosity and should be pulled down! God, it's been in the Ashworth family for about twenty thousand years – it's positively ancient!"

"Be that as it may," Mrs Brocklehurst began, "we are nevertheless going there. And you, my girl, will be coming too!" Mandy scowled in response to this, but Hermione's attention was not on her.

"The Malfoys?" Hermione asked, tilting her head, "They've invited you for dinner?"

"Oh, not just us – they want you to come too, my dear. The Malfoys are a very closed family, you know. They don't just let anyone in unless they have a good reason to do so. Of course, the balls they give are superb and are rightly the highlight of the Wizarding society calendar, for the Malfoys never spare any expense. But an invitation to dinner!" Mrs Brocklehurst sighed and shook her head in wonder. "To be invited to a dinner with the Malfoys… Let's just say that a dinner invitation by the Malfoys, is as rare as finding a phoenix feather outside Hogwarts." Mrs Brocklehurst frowned slightly before continuing, "Honestly, I must say I was rather surprised when the invitation arrived, but it would never do to reject an invitation to dinner by the Malfoys." She paused; "All our other invitations are from friends of the family, but the Malfoys…" she trailed off.

"Have they invited all of us?" Mandy asked.

Mrs Brocklehurst shook off her reverie and turned to her daughter, saying, "Well now, my dear. You know how it is with them; there are some things which can not be changed over night and well…."

"So Madelyn isn't coming, is she?" Mandy's voice had taken on a surly note as she spoke. "Mum, she's one of the family for god's sake! She's carrying your grandchild! How can they not invite her? I suppose that since Madelyn isn't going, neither is David?"

"Well, the truth is, the invitation is only for your father, Adrian, you two girls and myself. As I've said, the Malfoys are a closed family and inviting us for dinner in the first place, is already highly unusual for them. You can't expect them to invite the whole family now, can you? Well, regardless of what you may think, I have accepted the invitation, and we will be going. Perhaps they'll invite the others next time," Mrs Brocklehurst patted her daughter's knee, hoping to pacify her.

"Umm," Hermione hesitated, afraid of causing offence, "Mrs Brocklehurst, you mentioned that the other invitations are from friends of the family… are the Malfoys not family friends?" Hermione asked, a sense of foreboding taking hold of her. She was well aware of the reason for Madelyn not getting an invitation. Madelyn was a muggle, and would be about as welcome in the Malfoy's house as dry rot.

"Well, the truth is," Mrs Brocklehurst floundered, "how would you put it, we 'move in the same circles', if you know what I mean. I don't know the family well, but that is no reason to decline a dinner invitation from them. Besides, I believe the Malfoy heir will also be at the dinner. He is, after all, in your year at Hogwarts, and would be company for you two."

"I suppose so," Hermione replied, her heart sinking some more, "But I for one hardly know him – by sight yes, but no more."

"Ah well, in that case, it will be an excellent opportunity for you to get to know him away from Hogwarts and all the restrictions the different houses place upon you all. Personally, I think it will do you the world of good to spend time with him," she said looking at Mandy, who went red. "It is never too early to think about your future, to cement ties which later will come in handy."

It looked as though the invitation Malfoy had talked of had been sent after all, and unless Hermione wanted to offend her hosts, she would be obliged to go. 'Well,' she comforted herself, 'at least I won't be alone to deal with their snide remarks.'

They were in Mrs Brocklehurst's sitting room; a small very feminine room decorated in soft pastel colours. From her vantage point facing the window, Hermione could make out a figure strolling leisurely along the lawn below the window. The sky was a deep blue scattered with fluffy white clouds and the treetops could be seen swaying gently in the light breeze.

"Well, we best get studying if we want to be free by the time Madam Tooley is going to arrive," Mandy said, standing up and stretching. Wordlessly, Hermione followed her out of the room, and down the stairs in to the library. They settled themselves at either end of the large oak table that dominated the centre of the large room, and Hermione lost herself in the books lying open before her, temporarily forgetting her worries about the dinner with the Malfoys' and all that it would entail.

It was about half an hour later when Mandy broke the peaceful silence. "You know, it'll be interesting going to the Malfoys' place, don't you think? Is it just me, or are you reluctant to go? I mean everyone knows how Draco Malfoy and your friend Harry Potter hate each other, but surely that has nothing to do with you?" At the concerned look on Mandy's face, Hermione conjured up a bright smile. She didn't have the heart to tell Mandy her real feelings towards the Malfoys'.

"Umm… well, perhaps it's just reluctance on my part. I mean, a ball may be formal and even if you don't know your hosts, it's still ok because there are so many other people there. But a dinner party… A dinner party's different. I mean, the number of people at a formal dinner party's small, and if you don't really know your hosts, things can get a bit awkward, wouldn't you say?"

"Hmm… I suppose so," Mandy chewed her lip in thought. "Put like that, I can see where you're coming from – but mum is thrilled they have asked us. This is the first time we'll be going there for dinner anyway, and maybe they won't turn out to be all that bad after all!"

"Maybe not," Hermione half shrugged, but even to her own ears, she didn't sound very convincing. "But people who look down on others just because they're muggle – well that is wrong and prejudiced."

"You think that's the reason they didn't invite Madelyn and David? Oh no, I mean they are proud of their bloodline – who isn't? But to deliberately not invite someone to their home because she's a muggle, well that just doesn't make sense. After all – and no offence meant – but they've invited you. I mean, you are a muggleborn, your parents are muggles, if the Malfoys had a problem with muggles, surely they wouldn't have invite you either?"

"No, I suppose not, but still…" Hermione trailed off. Mandy did indeed have a point; to all intent and purpose, the Malfoys' could not be accused of not inviting Madelyn due to her heritage, but Hermione knew better. Almost seven years of veiled insults from Draco Malfoy had taught her if nothing else, that the Malfoys' prided their bloodline above all things and their opinion of muggles and muggleborn witches and wizards, was scathing to say the least.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, she affected a nonchalant shrug saying, "Yeah, I guess you're right. But it is still odd. Oh well, no doubt they have their reasons for inviting just us."

ZoZoZoZo

"Oh god, what am I going to wear?" Mandy wailed, coming into Hermione's suite. "Everyone, and I mean, everyone, will be at this ball and I just can't decide…" Mrs Brocklehurst's voice floated into the room, calling out for Mandy. "Damn, mum wants me. I'd better go, see you in a bit." With that, Mandy left the room, leaving Hermione to stare without enthusiasm at the dress robes, which had been laid out on her four-poster for the ball that evening.

Hermione had now been at Brocklehurst Manor for a week, and would have preferred to spend the evening curled up in front of the fire reading a good book. Instead, she had to attend this ball, which judging by the excited chatter of Mrs Brocklehurst, Madelyn and Mandy, was one of the highlights of the social calendar and therefore had to be attended.

Picking up the turquoise silk robes, she began to dress, fervently hoping that she would not be asked to dance. She didn't feel in the mood to listen to the inane chatter of people who had nothing better to do with their time than dress up for balls and dinner parties. She had now attended two dinner parties; one at the Finchly Manor and one at the home of the Nantons. Both families had taken pains to make her feel welcome, although she had been aware of their close scrutiny all evening. She had been bombarded with questions about her family, likes and dislikes, and aspirations for the future. She had found these inspections to be very draining, and although she was sure she had made a favourable impression with both families, she still felt like an outsider and had therefore been on her guard at all times. As a consequence, she had been drained after both parties and the last thing she wanted to do now was to mix with even more curious strangers. Furthermore, tonight she would be expected to dance as well as play the part of the cheerful and affable guest.

Surveying her reflection in the mirror, she had to admit that the robes showed off her clear skin and chestnut hair, to their best, as Madam Tooley had promised they would. The turquoise pendant nestling at her throat, added the finishing touch to an elegant outfit. Picking up her wand, she put it carefully into the concealed inner pocket of the robes and tying her hair back, glared at her reflection. Turning away, she picked up her evening cloak, and made her way down the oak stairs in to the drawing room.

"Wow, Hermione, you look good enough to eat!" Adrian said, coming over to her and taking her arm. "Remember, the first dance is mine tonight. If anyone else asked for it, tell them to go to hell, as you have already given it to me."

"Adrian, your language is despicable!" gasped Madelyn, gliding into the room. She was dressed in robes of blue velvet, which concealed her pregnancy, giving her figure slimness and poise, which Hermione had to admire.

"Well, are we all ready?" Mr Brocklehurst in robes of black velvet strode into the room. A man of few words, he surveyed the occupants with approval. "I must say Hermione, that Tooley woman knows her stuff, you don't look half bad this evening."

"Thank you, Mr Brocklehurst," Hermione said, smiling, "you look very smart yourself."

"If we are all ready, let's be off!" Mrs Brocklehurst announced, entering the room. Her tall figure was clad in robes of pale blue silk, giving her skin a translucent quality. "Now, the girls, Madelyn and I, will travel by portkey, and we'll see the rest of you on the far side of the castle moat. Don't cross the bridge without us – we shouldn't be more than a few minutes."

Mrs Brocklehurst then proceeded to usher everyone out of the room, and turning around, Hermione saw Mandy running down the stairs, trying not to trip over her green silk robes in her haste. Following Mrs Brocklehurst outside, Hermione waited for Mandy to catch up. Around them, the family were all Disapparating with small pops. Fishing in the pocket of her silk evening cloak, Mrs Brocklehurst held out a small round coin to the assembled group around her. Leaning forward, Hermione placed a finger on it, as did Mandy and Madelyn. In the next instant, there was a familiar tug behind Hermione's naval, and they were flying inexorably towards the castle. Hermione could feel Mandy and Mrs Brocklehurst's shoulders banging into her own and closing her eyes she tried not to peer at the kaleidoscope of colours that was pressing against her lids. 'No matter how many times I use a portkey,' she thought, 'I will always hate the experience!' Then with a thud that made her bones jerk painfully, she was slammed back onto her feet. Staggering slightly, she regained her balance and opened her eyes.

They had landed in what looked like a small clearing; a mountain stood behind them blocking out the rays of the gibbous moon, while in front of them, the water of the deep moat glinted in the light of thousands of stars, making it appear like liquid silver. To her left, Hermione could see a wooden drawbridge spanning the water, leading away from them. On either side of Hermione, huge trees stood sentinel in front of the castle, which looked like a solid dark edifice, brooding and slightly sinister, in the dim evening light.

"Finally," said Mr Brocklehurst's voice from behind them, "honestly you women, you fuss and bumble worse than a couple of kids. At this rate, there won't be any decent nosh left!"

"Food, Henry not 'nosh'. I do wish you would use proper English," Mrs Brocklehurst sighed distractedly. "But you are right, we should be getting a move on." So saying, she lead the others down to where the rest of the family stood huddled in the shelter of a large oak by the bridge. They all made their way over the bridge, and a cold breeze ruffled the skirt of Hermione's robes. Glancing down, she shivered; the water looked inky black and swirled in menacing waves, encouraged by the wind. Averting her eyes from this unpleasant view, Hermione followed the others along a wide gravel drive bordering the moat and up to the castle entrance.

"Dear me," murmured Mrs Brocklehurst, "we're late again! Oh well, we may as well put a brave face to it!" She marched up the steps leading to the entrance hall.

"I don't believe it! If it isn't Emily Brocklehurst and her gang!" A large florid man stood in the doorway beaming at them. "Well come in, come in, there is a definite nip out there!" Ushering the party into the spacious hall, he closed the elaborately carved front doors, just as a woman came hurrying out of one of the rooms.

"Emily, Henry, how nice to see you both!" She leaned forward and planted a smacking kiss on Mrs Brocklehurst's cheek before turning to smile at the rest of them. "Ah, and the rest of your family. Yes, I remember you all from David's wedding – my, haven't you grown Mandy! But who is this?" Her eyes fell upon Hermione standing nervously beside Mandy.

"This is Hermione Granger, a school friend of Mandy's," Mrs Brocklehurst said, smiling.

"Pleased to meet you, Hermione, and welcome to Ashworth Castle – it is a bit of a monstrosity, but it shelters us from the elements well enough." As she spoke, Mrs Ashworth moved towards the room out of which she had hurried a few minutes earlier to greet the Brocklehursts. "Everyone is here tonight," she carried on; "so you young girls should have a good time of it!" she winked meaningfully at Hermione and Mandy, causing both to go a bright shade of red. Like her husband, Mrs Ashworth had a florid weather-beaten complexion. Hermione guessed her to be in her late fifty's; her hair tied up in a shiny bun on the back of her head, a bright smile on her good-natured face.

The room in to which the Ashworths led them was large and had a high ceiling. The large windows were topped with gothic archways, while a chandelier containing thousands of candles blazed overhead, lighting up the large room. Hermione could see a dance floor in the middle and a few couples were already dancing to a slow melody she didn't recognise. People stood around the room with drinks in hand, laughing and chatting; the atmosphere was convivial and she felt herself relaxing. A band consisting of drums, a cello, a violin, two guitars and a saxophone, was positioned on a raised dais at one end of the room, while a long table had been erected at the other, on which stood drinks of every kind. Small gilt chairs were placed at strategic points round the room, for those guests who did not want to dance.

"Now you two," Mrs Brocklehurst said to Mandy and Hermione, "I don't want you touching any alcohol – you are far too young and there are plenty of non-alcoholic beverages to choose from." Both girls nodded in assent, although Mandy scowled darkly behind her mother's back.

"Come on," said Mandy, turning towards Hermione, "Let's stand over here. With any luck, we may see someone we recognise. That's the problem with these things – for the oldies, all their friends are always at functions like these, but we probably won't know anyone else."

"Oh, I wouldn't speak so soon," Hermione countered, "look behind you."

Mandy whipped around and sure enough, struggling towards them through the throng of people were Terry Boot and Ernie McMillan, both grinning broadly and clutching drinks.

"Hey," Ernie called, "What a surprise to see you two here."

"Not that we're complaining or anything," Terry grinned, "but there's a distinct lack of decent birds here, so it's nice to see you!"

"Birds?" Mandy spluttered, while Hermione bit her lip in order to stifle her laughter. "Birds? You call us birds? Well, if you don't have the manners to at least talk in a civilised tone, you can just turn round and go back to where you came from!"

At Mandy's outcry and the boys' crest-fallen expressions, Hermione could not stop her laughter from erupting, causing a few people to look at her curiously. The boys' countenances had turned brick red and both were now staring at the floor.

"Well, look we didn't mean anything by it, I mean …" Ernie trailed off.

"We're sorry," Terry chipped in, "now will you danced with us? Granger, I mean, Hermione, can I have this dance please?"

He was looking at her with such a pleading look in his eyes, Hermione didn't have the heart to refuse him. Excusing herself to Mandy, she followed Terry onto the dance floor. A few seconds later, Mandy and Ernie caught up with them, a resigned expression on Mandy's face. Turning to face Terry, Hermione put her hand in his, placing her other hand on his shoulder. Putting his arm around her, Terry led Hermione in the dance. The music was soft, and not being familiar with wizarding bands, Hermione had no idea what it was she was listening to. As they circled the floor, she allowed her gaze to wander idly around the crowded room and as a consequence, didn't see Draco Malfoy heading straight for them.

"Boot, your mummy's wondering where you are," he sneered, making both Hermione and Terry jump.

Wheeling round to face him, Hermione saw him smirking unpleasantly at Terry, his eyes narrowed slits. "Well, what are you waiting for Boot? Mummy's asking for you so you'd better not keep her waiting! Run along now, there's a good boy!"

"Malfoy!" Terry spluttered, "My mother's fine, I left her talking to her friends over there." He gestured to a point over Hermione's shoulder. "She was enjoying herself; told me to do the same. So, if you'd kindly leave us be?" Terry raised his brows.

"No," countered Malfoy, with a slow drawl. "I think you'll find she wants another drink," he said pointedly, "You'd better scurry over there to get it, just as you've been trained. Now come on, chop chop!"

Scowling, Terry glanced over to where a woman, presumably his mother, was standing quite alone, and looking disconsolate. Hermione's heart went out to the frail-looking woman. By the look of her, Hermione guessed she had recently been ill; her skin had a waxy papery look to it, and there were fine lines around her eyes. She was also too thin, her cheekbones clearly visible through the skin of her pale face.

"Come on, Terry, she looks as though she could do with company," Hermione said, making her way towards the woman. However, she had only taken a few steps towards the woman, when a hand closed around her elbow, bringing her to a halt. Turning around, she saw Draco Malfoy smiling down at her, although the smile did not reach his cold grey eyes.

"Now where do you think you're going?" he smirked, "Mrs Boot didn't ask for you – just her boy." Glancing at her empty hands, he looked up at her and continued, "I see you don't have a drink; Boot's manners leave a lot to be desired. Come, let me get you one."

"Damn you Malfoy," Hermione hissed. "Let me go this instant! In case you hadn't notice, Terry and I were dancing. Why would I need a drink? Anyway, I was just about to go over there to see if there was anything I could do for his mother, which is mere common courtesy – something you seem to know nothing about." she flashed back angrily. She could make out the figure of Terry wending his lonely way between the couples on the dance floor towards his mother.

"Oh, I don't know," Malfoy replied mildly, his gaze following that of Hermione. "Unlike your… friend, I have been taught how to treat a lady with civility. Unlike your erstwhile partner, I don't guzzle my own drink, leaving my lady unprovided for; nor would I just leave her to trail after me on the dance floor," he smirked. "I am simply stepping into the breach here, rescuing you from an awkward situation. For indeed, what would people think if they saw Boot leave you in the middle of a dance? At least my presence here would quell gossip about him leaving you high and dry half way through the dance," he said, tilting his head towards a group of older witches who were gazing at them with undisguised curiosity. "How do you think they would construe Boots' rudeness? The fact of the matter is that you should be grateful to me for stepping in."

Hermione, flushed with anger, retorted venomously. "Well I don't care what they think. If you don't mind, Malfoy, leave me be and go pester someone else!"

"My, we are prickly this evening, aren't we?" Malfoy resumed with mock delight. "That's a shame, for I have such plans for you." Ignoring Hermione's incredulous glare, he went on, "After we complete this dance, I would like to introduce you to my parents." With a more serious mien, he added, "I don't believe you've been formally introduced to my family, and they expressly asked to be introduced to you."

'Yeah, I bet they did,' Hermione thought savagely. Aloud she said, "But Malfoy, I don't wish to be introduced to them – call it intuition if you like, but something tells me that we won't get on!" Before Hermione could protest further, she found herself being forcefully led back to the crowded dance floor, with Malfoy's firm hand on the small of her back.

Once in place, Malfoy held her in the traditional dance posture, and began to lead her through the unfamiliar dance moves. There could be no doubt at all that Draco Malfoy was an excellent dancer. Unlike Terry's unsure steps, Malfoy moved with a confident grace and an impeccable sense of rhythm, making it easier for her to follow the unfamiliar dance steps. Against her will, Hermione found herself starting to enjoy the dance, her movements matching his.

"You're a good dancer," he complimented her after a while. Hermione ignored him, fixing her eyes instead on the wall opposite them, which was hung with various portraits. 'The Ashworths' ancestors,' Hermione thought.

The music finally came to an end, but before Hermione had a chance to move away, Malfoy was steering her off the dance floor towards a group of people standing to one side of the polished floor, conversing enthusiastically together. Hermione scowled and tried to wrench her arm from his grasp, but he tightened his grip, causing her to wince.

"Careful," he muttered, "I wouldn't struggle too much, they are all watching us, look!" The group was indeed watching their progress across the crowded dance floor, and seeing Hermione's dismayed expression, Malfoy gave her a triumphant smirk.

Reaching the laughing knot of people and thrusting Hermione forward, Malfoy said, "Mother, Father, I want you to meet a school friend of mine." At his words, two people detached themselves from the group, making their way to where Hermione and Malfoy stood a little way apart.

Hermione felt her heart sink; Lucius Malfoy was smiling down at her, his cold grey eyes taking in every nuance of her appearance. He reminded her of a cat, about to squash a particularly tiresome mouse. Beside him walked a tall slender woman, whom Hermione recognised as Narcissa Malfoy. Her smile, although slightly warmer than that of her husband, was nevertheless assessing, her eyes sweeping Hermione from head to toe. Like her husband, she was impeccably dressed. Narcissa's eyes soon returned to Hermione's face, boring into her as though trying to look in to her very soul.

"Well, well, this is a pleasure," Lucius drawled taking Hermione's hand in his own. "Hermione, isn't it? I hope you don't mind us using your first name, but as Draco has told us so much about you, we feel as though we already know you. And since that is the case, we needn't stand on ceremony," he added with a smile.

Hermione bit her lip; his fingers were gripping hers so tightly, she felt as though the circulation was being cut off in her hand. There was also a dangerous glint in his eye, which held an unspoken threat.

Swallowing nervously, Hermione said, "Yes, I mean to say, that is…"

Lucius smiled in triumph and dropped her hand.

"That's excellent," said Narcissa, bending forward and kissing Hermione's cheek. "We have heard so much from Draco about you, we just had to meet you. Now my dear, it seems Draco has been remiss – you don't have a drink. Draco darling, go fetch Hermione one," she ordered her son. Turning back to Hermione, she added, "You must be thirsty after all that dancing. I wonder if we could go somewhere more quiet to talk – one can't hear oneself think in this place, let alone have a civil conversation."

"Well, considering that since your son and I hardly know each other, I'd say that we would have very little to chat about," Hermione countered.

Behaving as though Hermione hadn't spoken, Lucius said in a loud voice, "There's a nice little sitting room I am sure the Ashworths won't mind us using. It's just across the hall, come."

Cupping Hermione's elbow, he attempted to lead her towards the double doors, which opened into the hall, with Narcissa walking on Hermione's other side. Hermione felt trapped; she could see no way out of her dilemma and to make things worse, Draco appeared from nowhere holding a glass of orange juice. He fell in step behind Hermione, effectively blocking her only way of escape.

'Damn,' she thought, trying hard to quell the panic rising inside her, 'think! There has to be a way out of this. There must be a way!'

"And where are you lot off to?" boomed a voice, cutting into Hermione's panicked thoughts. Mr Brocklehurst was lounging by the doors, a half empty glass held in one hand, with a half smile on his face. "If I didn't no better, I'd say you were kidnapping our Hermione."

"Oh don't be absurd, Henry," Lucius drawled smoothly, "the girl needs some air, there is such a crush, after all. The ball can be dreadfully overwhelming, and this being her first wizarding ball outside of Hogwarts. We were merely escorting her out of the room before the entire event got too much for the poor child and cause her to faint - you know how young girls are prone to this."

"Indeed," Mr Brocklehurst raised his brows at Lucius' explanation. Turning to Hermione, he inquired with a note of real concern, "Hermione, are you not feeling well?" He peered more closely at Hermione, frowning. Hermione could feel tears threatening, and rapidly blinked them away. "Well, Lucius, if that's the case, I'll come along with your little party. I wouldn't mind a breath of clean air myself."

The tightening of Lucius' fingers on Hermione's arm was the only indication of his growing annoyance. His smile did not waver as he answered, "Of course, Henry, do feel free to join us!"

"Come on, Hermione," Mr Brocklehurst said taking her arm, thus effectively removing Lucius' hand, "Lucius is right, these damned ballrooms can get a tad stuffy." Turning to Lucius and Narcissa, he smiled brightly and said, "Well, thank you both for your help, it was much appreciated. I think I'll take over from here, and let you both get back to the ball. Hermione is my guest, after all."

Hermione saw Narcissa's mouth tighten; the warm smile had disappeared to be replaced with a steely look of determination. Her eyes which were a clear blue, bored into Mr Brocklehurst's, but he did not flinch.

"It is of no consequence, Henry. I will accompany you," Narcissa said, "After all, the child looks peaky and it might be inconvenient for a man such as yourself to deal with her. Since Emily is not around, I am able to be of assistance. I do hate to leave the poor child alone." So saying, Narcissa placed her arm around Hermione's shoulders, propelling her towards the hall.

Struggling against the pressure Narcissa was exerting, Hermione said pointedly, "No thank you, Mrs Malfoy. I'm fine, honestly. I am not about to faint and I assure you that I am very well. I'm sure you would rather return to the ball."

Hermione pushed Narcissa's arm away, and hurried out the room, Mr Brocklehurst on her heels. They didn't speak as they made their way across the cold hall into another room, which was small and looked as though it was rarely used.

"What was that all about?" Mr Brocklehurst asked, throwing himself down into an armchair. "That lot looked pretty determined to get you out of there. Any idea why?"

"Well, honestly, I don't know. I mean – there's nothing wrong with me as you can see. And well…" Hermione trailed off, looking at the floor, perplexed.

There was a pause and then Mr Brocklehurst said thoughtfully, "I don't often get involved in all this social politics stuff – don't hold with it, but those two wanted you alone, and what I want to know is why." Changing his tone, he added, "If the rumours are true, you are a pretty magical person right?"

"Rumours? What rumours?" Hermione shook her head in bewilderment.

"Well, tell me – is it true, then? Are you one of the most powerful witches Hogwarts has seen in an age?"

Hermione shrugged before nodding. It seemed silly to deny something he already seemed to know all about.

"Well, in that case, those two are after something and I think I know what. It's a shame we have to dine with them next week. All the same, I am not happy about all this, no."

"Well, neither am I," Hermione said, "Is there really no way we can get out of the dinner invitation? And what do you think it is they are after?"

"Well, not quite sure to be honest – I'm just making an assumption," Mr Brocklehurst hedged. His eyes had fixed themselves on a point above Hermione's left shoulder as he continued, "they could be after anything. It may be nothing sinister, but all the same…" he trailed off. "And as for the invitation, it will look like an deliberate insult if we back out now. And in these trying times, we can't be too careful; more enemies means more worries, see? I can't afford to take that risk – I have a family to think about, as have you, so we must just grit our teeth and attend." Seeing Hermione's crestfallen face, Mr Brocklehurst comforted her with; "Don't worry, though. One of us will be with you all the time while we're there."

Hermione, rather than feeling assured by this, felt the now familiar feeling of worry grip her insides. If she were any judge of character, she would bet her friendship with Harry and Ron that Lucius and Narcissa would do everything in their power to get her alone – this evening had proved that, and she had a nasty feeling that in their own house, they would succeed without any difficulty.

"Well, thanks Mr Brocklehurst," she replied with a bright false smile, to lighten the suddenly grim situation. "I suppose we had better return to the ball now."

They got up and left the room and entered the ballroom just as another dance started up. As soon as they entered, Hermione saw Narcissa detach herself from a group of people and start to wend her way over to them.

"Speak of the devil!" Mr Brocklehurst said, as Narcissa reached them.

"Hermione, are you feeling better?" she asked, pushing herself in between Hermione and Mr Brocklehurst.

"Yes Mrs Malfoy. I'm fine, thanks," Hermione replied, surreptitiously trying to edge away.

"Henry!" came a voice from behind the trio.

Turning, they saw Mr Ashworth beaming at Mr Brocklehurst, "Been looking for you everywhere, old chap! There's someone I want you to meet. Excuse us, ladies." So saying, he grabbed Mr Brocklehurst's arm and began dragging him away, leaving Hermione alone with Narcissa.

"Men, really!" Narcissa sighed shrugging, "Anyway, how are you really? Did that breath of fresh air do any good?"

"Erm, yeah," Hermione said distractedly. Around them, the dance was in full flow, with couples circling the floor. No one was looking in their direction – all were busy either dancing or chatting. The drinks were flowing freely, and many of the guests, having consumed more than one glass of the potent punch, were now talking in very loud voices, all inhibitions washed away by the alcohol.

"It is so nice to finally meet you in the flesh – Draco has told me so much about you."

At the sound of Narcissa's voice, Hermione abandoned the search for a familiar face, and turned back to Narcissa, who stood by the wall, cool and elegant watching her closely.

"I feel as though I already know you. I do hope we can get to know each other better during your stay with the Brocklehursts – if there were more time, I would have invited you to come and stay with us."

At the incredulous look on Hermione's face, she went on smoothly, "Well, I for one would like to get to know you better, and so would Draco, I believe. To be perfectly frank, I feel that the house rivalry at Hogwarts is too intense, and that is such a shame as it hinders possible friendships between people, who in other circumstances would have been natural friends."

Hermione had to suppress a snort at this – she and Draco Malfoy bosom pals? The idea was enough to make her want to laugh! She imagined the expressions on Ron and Harry's faces if they could hear Narcissa now.

Making a conscious effort to keep a straight face she said, "Yeah true, there are aren't many interhouse friendships such as mine with Mandy, but honestly, I really can't see me being friends with your son. I mean… I mean, we are too different and stuff."

"He doesn't seem to think so," Narcissa said quietly, "you think people like us are prejudiced in our attitudes towards you… but can you truthfully say that you are not prejudiced against us? It's a real shame," she looked Hermione in the eyes and shook her head. "Never mind, hopefully you will understand what I mean, when you come to dinner at the Manor and see for yourself what sort of people we really are."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked not understanding Narcissa's sudden change of tack.

"Well," the other woman regarded her thoughtfully, "It is perfectly obvious that you don't particularly care for either me or any of my family. Now considering you don't know either my husband or myself, and barely know Draco personally, your attitude is a little… well, shall we say a little strange, is it not? Past experience is usually the thing that colours ones attitude towards another, but in this case, we don't even know each other at all, Hermione. Therefore, it is not past experience that colours your attitude towards me, which leaves me to think that you have developed presumptions and opinions based on things you might have heard."

Hermione could feel the colour rising in her cheeks and was just about to open her mouth to apologise for her incivility, when Mrs Brocklehurst swept over and nodding at Narcissa said, "Come along Hermione, we have stayed long enough I think, you look dead on your feet and so does Mandy. Time to call it an evening!"

ZoZoZoZo

'How is it,' Hermione thought sleepily, 'that you can be made to feel guilty for something you haven't even done?' Ginny's voice broke into her thoughts and she started guiltily.

"So what happened? I mean, it's obvious they wanted to talk to you about something, but what?" Ginny's head which sat in the flames, turned so as to get a better look at Hermione's shadowy profile.

"Don't know," Hermione answered staring absently into the flames of the fire. "It was Mandy's dad who rescued me from them. The Malfoys were all set to have a cosy chat, practically dragging me from the room but fortunately, Mr Brocklehurst intercepted them – god, am I grateful to him for that."

Ginny frowned; her face in the flickering fire light looked worried, her forehead was creased and her eyes downcast. "But Hermione, they're a very powerful family, and they don't usually… well they won't talk to people of muggle origin if they can help it. I mean, Narcissa Malfoy's a class A bitch! And that's a well known fact!" Ignoring Hermione's wince, she went on, "She isn't the type to get to know someone just because. There has to be something in it for her, there must be. I mean, that's who she is. What I want to know is, why did she go out of her way to be nice to you – it isn't like her at all."

Hermione shrugged, "I don't know, I think Mr Brocklehurst has an idea, but when I asked him about it, he wouldn't say. I just wish I didn't have to go with them to the Malfoys' dinner. Not only would that be very rude to both families, but the Brocklehursts have done so much to make me feel welcome that to avoid the dinner would be most ungrateful of me."

"Well, whatever happens, keep your wand on you at all times. And Hermione, make sure one of the Brocklehurst's is with you all the time you are there. That way, Lucius and co won't be able to get you alone."

"I highly doubt that they'll allow me to stick with the Brocklehurst, not when the dinner's in their own house. They'll get me alone if it means poisoning the Brocklehursts to do it – you didn't see the look of determination on their faces earlier," Hermione sagged against the armchair she was sitting on. "Look, you'd better go, it's late, and I have a full day tomorrow. Thanks for talking to me tonight, I daren't say anything to Mandy – both she and her mother think the Malfoys are nice people."

"Well, goodnight then, I can't see the Brocklehursts being too pleased at you hogging their flu this late. Hermione, take care and watch yourself – I have a really bad feeling about this, but as none of them have done anything obviously wrong, we can't get anyone like Dumbledore involved. If only we could come up with a plan to stop you going – when is the dinner again?"

"In five days time – jus before the holidays end. Ginny, I don't like that expression," Ginny was looking thoughtful her forehead creased in concentration, "leave it, I am sure I can survive one dinner with the gits."

"Yeah maybe – look I'll speak to you in a bit but in the mean time take care and don't take any chances!" Ginny's head disappeared from the fire with a small pop, leaving Hermione alone.

Hermione sighed before wearily getting to her feet, and making her ponderous way to bed. What was Ginny up to? The expression on her face had reminded Hermione vividly of Fred and George's expressions while designing their next piece of merchandise for their joke shop. Shrugging, she sighed; she would worry about Ginny and the Malfoys and what they were up to, in the morning. Right now, she could feel tiredness threatening to overwhelm her, so she pushed the happenings of the evening from her exhausted mind and staggered into bed.


	9. Chapter 8

Authors Note: Once again, sorry for the late update but hopefully, the long chapter will make up for it. As ever thanks to my beta for making this readable, and those of you who have left such encouraging reviews. Let me know what you all think of this chapter and please enjoy!

Chapter 8

Hermione stared down at the book in her lap, trying in vain to decipher the words, to no avail. No matter how hard she concentrated, they blurred in front of her eyes. She had been sitting trying to read for the better part of two hours as she found sleep to be impossible. The day she had dreaded was finally here; the day she would be forced to visit the home of people she hated.

She yawned; stretching her cramped limbs she glanced at the clock sitting on the mantelpiece. It was time for breakfast. She got up and made her reluctant way downstairs into the large breakfast room, where no doubt the Brocklehursts would be sitting round the table chatting animatedly. For them, this was a special day, in which one of their dearest ambitions would be realised – dinner with one of the most prestigious wizarding families in the wizarding community.

Pushing open the door to the breakfast room, Hermione saw that the family were indeed all present – all wearing cheery expressions and tucking into toast and scrambled eggs. At her appearance, Adrian leapt to his feet and pulled out her chair with a flourish.

"Hermione, there you are! I was beginning to think you had overslept. Look, here's a letter for you – looks like it's from Hogwarts."

He handed Hermione a letter, which she saw bore the unmistakeable Hogwarts crest, and she felt her heart leap. Maybe this letter would be her salvation – the thing that Ginny had promise a few days ago. Trying not to look too hopeful, she ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of parchment within. She immediately recognised the writing as belonging to Professor McGonagall.

Adrian, looking over her shoulder, frowned before exclaiming, "Blimey, isn't that McGonagall's handwriting? What does she want with you in the holidays?" At these words, everyone else looked up also.

"Well dear," Mrs Brocklehurst said, "best to get it over with, read it out loud – it will be better that way."

Smoothing out the letter Hermione read,

"Dear Miss Granger,

I am sorry to have to interrupt your holiday but an urgent matter has come up which requires your immediate attention as head girl. I would be grateful if you could get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible as this matter cannot wait and needs to be dealt with without delay.

Once again I apologise for the inconvenience – please convey my sincere apologies to the Brocklehurst family.

Prof M. McGonagall."

There was a silence as Hermione finished reading and folded up the letter, only to be broken by Adrian, who asked, "What's so urgent that you have to run back to Hogwarts now?"

"Well," Hermione hedged, trying hard to conceal the relief she was feeling, "it's probably a Head Boy and Girl issue – Anthony's also away, so they're probably trying to recall us both."

"Well, whatever the matter, I'm sure they won't begrudge you another day – after all, it's the Malfoy's dinner party this evening and you can't miss that!" Mandy grinned as she finished speaking.

"I am sure you are right, Mandy dear," her mother said, "Hermione simply must attend the dinner party tonight – after all, she was specifically invited. I will floo Minerva McGonagall to let her know."

"Mrs Brocklehurst," Hermione began, her heart sinking, "it could be something urgent, and I—"

"Nonsense, my dear. They can't expect you to drop everything and go back to school; no one would expect that of you. No, you enjoy yourself, and maybe tomorrow we can see about getting you back to school, if you so wish."

"But I'm sure the Malfoys' won't mind! That is, I mean, this school matter must be really serious for Professor McGonagall to owl me, and as Head Girl, it's my duty to, well, to put Hogwarts first," Hermione said earnestly.

Everyone looked speculatively at her and Mrs Brocklehurst frowned slightly, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on Hermione's anxious face.

"As I said before," she said, "you have been invited to attend the dinner party, and it is only right you should go. If the matter was very serious, one of the Hogwarts staff would have come here in person to escort you back, but as they have simply sent an owl, I think we are safe in assuming the matter can wait until tomorrow!"

There was no arguing with this logic, Hermione knew. She stared down at her untouched breakfast, her heart leaden. It seemed that the Brocklehursts were determined to drag her to the Malfoys', no matter what. She wished she could defy them and not go, but that would be tantamount to throwing their courtesy back in their faces – something she could not do. She pushed her food around her plate, while around her the family discussed the evening's visit with enthusiasm. Only Madelyn was quiet. Like Hermione, she was pushing her food round her plate abstractedly, a faraway look on her face. Glancing at her, Hermione wondered what was occupying her mind. of all this family, Madelyn was the one Hermione knew least well. As though she could sense Hermione's gaze on her, Madelyn looked up, catching Hermione's eye. With a slight nod of the head, she sent the merest of glances towards the rose garden just visible outside the breakfast room window. Returning her nod, Hermione forced down a piece of toast and a cup of coffee, before excusing herself to the rest of the family and making her way outdoors to the rose garden.

The day was quite warm, a breeze ruffled the branches of the trees and blossom cascaded down onto Hermione as she paced the parameter of the garden. The sky was a clear blue and fluffy white clouds could be seen floating lazily along in the wake of the breeze. Hermione looked around the garden, roses of every colour and variety imaginable grew here, although most as yet were not out, the buds clinging firmly to their stems. A slight sound made Hermione turn and she saw Madelyn coming towards her down the path. Hermione thought she looked tired; there were shadows beneath her eyes, and her cheeks were pale.

Reaching Hermione, Madelyn smiled before indicating a bench in the sun. Both sat down, then Madelyn turned to Hermione with a wan smile.

"I don't think we'll be overheard here, so we can talk freely," she said. "The family are all busy with other things."

"Madelyn, is everything ok?" Hermione's question was asked in a quiet voice and she glanced swiftly round the garden to check for eavesdroppers.

"Hermione, there are a few things I feel I need to tell you. You are muggleborn, and so are unaware of certain—" Madelyn hesitated, "—shall we say, traditions or etiquettes by which families such as ours abide."

Hermione frowned recalling the book on etiquette she had read before visiting the Brocklehursts' manor.

"Well, I did some reading before I came here—"

"Books, Hermione," smiled Madelyn wryly, "can only take you so far. No, there are some things which books cannot teach you, and it is these which I want to warn you about."

Hermione frowned again before smiling at Madelyn.

"Well, thanks for your concern, but honestly I am fine—"

"Oh no you're not!" Madelyn shook her head. "Listen to me and then you can decide if you're fine or not. Before I met David, I knew nothing of wizards or anything like that, so I was completely unprepared for his revelation that he was a wizard. God, I remember exactly when he told me," she said, leaning her head back and looking up into the bright blue sky. "I didn't believe him at first, but then he showed me some spells he did with his wand, and I was forced to believe him," she smiled while reminiscing. "Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked," Madelyn turned back to Hermione, continuing, "when I first met the family, they were all really nice, they'd made me feel welcome and everything. I knew nothing of prejudicial attitudes towards people like me – but you could say that I learned it the hard way."

Hermione leaned forward, her interest captured and Madelyn carried on speaking in a low voice. "I often wondered why certain people gave me funny looks at parties, or in the cases of others, avoided me altogether. David told me I was imagining things when I questioned him about it. A few months ago, I found out exactly why certain people gave me weird looks at a party given by the Latameirs'. I'd gone into the hall for a breath of fresh air and saw a child sitting on the stairs watching me through the banisters. She was about eight or nine, and she had no inhibitions. She stared at me as though she had never seen another human being before, and when I asked her what she was looking at, she said, 'oh, you're that muggle woman that David Brocklehurst married aren't you?' I said I was, and then she told me – you know what children are like – talk first and think later. Well, she said… she said," Madelyn grimaced and lowered her voice in unhappiness, "she said it had come as a surprise to everyone that David had married me, but that she supposed that as there were another two children in the Brocklehurst family, it didn't really matter. I was confused by what she said, so I started questioning her further. You can imagine my shock and outrage when I found out through her why so many of our so-called friends avoided me."

Hermione bit her lip, sympathy rising in her. She had not failed to notice the bitter tinge that had crept into Madelyn's voice as she talked.

"So what happened then?" Hermione asked equally softly.

"Well," Madelyn slanted a glance across to Hermione, "I carried on questioning the child who was only too happy to talk, as it meant she could stay downstairs for a bit longer. She told me, that in order to retain the "purity" of the Brocklehurst bloodline, at least one of them had to marry a pureblood. Needless to say, I was a little hurt by what that implied, and when I questioned David about it later, he reluctantly confirmed her story."

Hermione sat on the bench silently, allowing Madelyn's story to sink in.

Madelyn gave Hermione a wan smile, continuing, "I've gott used to the snubs, but that isn't the point of what I want to tell you. Hermione, Emily Brocklehurst's a determined woman. She didn't object to David and I marrying because as that child so glibly pointed out, there are Mandy and Adrian left, and Emily is determined that both will marry purebloods. Which brings me to the subject of this evening."

Hermione scowled having temporarily forgotten the evening ahead and her despondency.

"What about it?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Hermione listen to me. I sympathise with you – heaven only knows I too have had my fair share of prejudice, but you are in a difficult situation. Emily, like every mother, wants only the best for her children. Therefore, it's her dearest wish to see Mandy married to the Malfoy boy. After all, he's heir to a huge fortune, as well as being the only son of one of the most prestigious families in Britain."

"But Malfoy's father is a Voldemort supporter – everyone knows that!" Hermione cried, "Why does she want to associate with a family who use money and threats to buy favours and loyalty? Everyone knows Lucius Malfoy bribed his way out of Azkaban last year."

Madelyn sighed. "Hermione, I was a psychologist before I got married and have learned a lot since. The world's not black and white. Good and evil aren't simple opposites. You see, I've learned the hard way that most of the old pureblood families don't really care about the Voldemort issue. This family," she took another furtive look round the deserted garden, "is no different. Sure, they're more open-minded than some, but if David had been the only child, marrying me would not have been an option for him; preserving the purity of the bloodline would have come first."

"But," Hermione gasped, "that's so wrong, I mean—"

"I couldn't agree more, but that's life and I hate to say it, it's something you have to accept if you want to remain in the wizarding world. Hermione, you must know that upper class pureblood society is a closed sphere; they rarely let anyone else into their ranks, and its members are fiercely loyal to ensure the continuation of their own bloodlines. It pays for their society to work like that, as each bloodline is intent on preserving its own purity, and if that means overlooking the errant activities of those with whom they wish to forge links, they will do so. Although… I've wondered how they dealt with the Kurbs-blood problem."

"Kurbs-Blood?" Hermione prompted.

"Yeah, you know – that genetic disease which is killing pureblood infants. All the families I know of including our own, have had it at some point in time, and apparently it's on the increase. Thus pureblood families cannot ignore it for long! But there I go, digressing again," Madelyn shook her head. "Getting back to the subject at hand, Emily was delighted to receive that invite from the Malfoys' as it'll give her a chance to parade Mandy before them. Mandy's a sweet girl – I couldn't have asked for a nicer sister-in-law, but she's easily manipulated; she'll go through with her mother's wishes because it simply hasn't occurred to her to do otherwise. I know Emily's been wondering how to cross the line from acquaintanceship to friendship with the Malfoys for some time, so she's determined that nothing go wrong tonight." Madelyn paused, and looked intently at the brunette sharing her bench. "And this is where you come in. Now, if the rumour is true, you've had dealings with the Malfoy boy at school, so Emily feels that you'll provide some common ground on which Mandy and the boy can meet."

"Well, thanks then," Hermione snorted derisively, "no wonder she's so determined I go, not that I know that slimy ferret that well!"

"Be that as it may, but from Emily's point of view, you danced together at the Ashworths' ball, and he took you over to introduce you to his parents. That speaks of familiarity, and Emily wants to use that to her advantage. Also, the Malfoys specifically invited you to the dinner, and it'll be very rude of my in-laws if they turn up without you. Remember, they want to create a good impression. The Brocklehursts are decent people, but they're determined to make a good match for Mandy." Madelyn looked seriously into Hermione's eyes. "Hermione, the thing is, you're in a pretty precarious position; I can understand that all you want to do is fling the invitation back into the Malfoys' faces, but if you do, Emily'll never forgive you – I've yet to see her bad side, but David has, and let's just say, she can be quite vindictive if you annoy her, and frankly, you've no means of protection here. Take my advice – attend the dinner without any more resistance. What happened at breakfast was obvious to all that you don't want to go, and Emily was definitely not pleased."

"Madelyn, you don't know the Malfoys – they're pure evil!"

"Yes, so rumour has it, but surely one evening with them won't kill you?"

Hermione looked incredulously at Madelyn, trying to make the older woman understand her viewpoint

"Look," Madelyn rolled her eyes with a sigh, "the alternative - getting on to Emily's bad side is far worse than attending a dinner at the Malfoys' – for one thing, you're under the protection of the Brocklehursts. Believe me, Emily's temper is not something you want to see, especially since you're here as the guest of her daughter. Listen, just eat what everyone else eats, so that will rule out poisoning. And always stay close to Mandy – the Malfoys won't do anything to her."

Hermione gave a defeated shrug; it would take too long to explain her misgivings to Madelyn and she was not sure that she would even be believed. True, Madelyn had proved to be more open-minded, but as she herself had hinted, it would be too offensive for Hermione not to attend.

ZoZoZoZo

Hermione lay in the scented water, her eyes half closed. Clouds of steam billowed around her and the air was full of the scent of Lavender, but she could not relax. She shivered as she tried to imagine the evening ahead. She knew she was nervous and could not help but remember all the insults she had hurled at both Malfoy senior and junior. No doubt they were intending to pay her back this evening. As she thought of this, a hot spurt of anger broke through her anxiety and she pulled herself into a standing position in the huge bath. She would show the Malfoys a thing or two if they tried to harm her – she wasn't the cleverest witch Hogwarts had seen for the past twenty years for nothing.

With newfound determination, Hermione stepped out of the bath and began drying herself off. Standing in front of her vast wardrobe, she considered her wardrobe, and then a slow smile slid over her face. Reaching forward, she pulled out a set of dress robes she had not yet worn, and began to dress. She would show the Malfoys exactly what she was capable of!

An hour later, she gazed critically at herself in the long mirror. Her robes, made of red satin interwoven with faint traces of gold, clung seductively to her figure. A gold pendant rested on the deep red of the satin while matching earrings hung from her ear lobes. She had pulled her hair back in a red and gold clip. She gave her reflection a wry smile; her appearance would do. Hermione made sure her wand was handy and a few chocolates containing the invisibility potion she had brewed almost two months earlier were in her pocket. Picking up her evening bag, she swept from the room and down the stairs.

"Wow, Hermione, you look amazing!" Adrian whistled, as Hermione came down the stairs. "Not everyone can wear their House colours like you do – that's a bold statement if ever I saw one." He indicated Hermione's outfit just as his mother and Mandy came down the stairs.

"Hermione dear, you look nice," Mrs Brocklehurst said, her eyes sweeping over Hermione. A slight tightening of her mouth told Hermione she was not too pleased at the colours Hermione had chosen to wear, but as Hermione had complied with wizarding dress code, there was nothing she could complain about. Emily was decked out in dress robes of midnight blue, which contrasted beautifully with her hair and eyes. Beside her, Mandy sported robes of pale pink silk, which were demurely cut, accentuating the fragility of her petite figure. Mr Brocklehurst arrived and they made their way to the front doors.

"Right, time for another good evening!" Adrian said, catching Mandy's eye with a wicked leer. Mandy looked away, but not before Hermione noticed the blush creeping over her cheeks.

"Come on now, we don't want to be late," Mrs Brocklehurst admonished, ushering them down the steps out into the April evening. "Now we will all be travelling by Portkey and should arrive outside the gates of Malfoy Manner. Here take hold of this." Emily produced the now familiar coin from her bag and held it out. Hermione, the still grinning Adrian, Mandy and Mr Brocklehurst each put a finger on to it, and a moment later, they were whisked away to Malfoy Manor.

With a thud, they landed, and Hermione just managed to keep herself from falling ungracefully. Around her, the others also staggered upright and Mrs Brocklehurst, after brushing herself down, swept critical glances over the two girls to ensure their clothes and hair had not been ruffled by their journey. Once she had straightened and adjusted their robes to her satisfaction, they all turned to face the imposing Manor gates.

The Manor gates were cast iron and intricately wrought. Even as Hermione watched, they creaked open of their own accord to admit the party. All of them stepped through and as soon as they had done so, the gates clanged shut ominously behind them. Hermione stared ahead. It was difficult to make out anything clearly in the dark. The drive was curved with tall trees bordering it on either side. She could not yet see the house, but through the trees, she glimpsed lawns as smooth as velvet. Beside her, Mandy shivered with apprehension and Hermione shot her a reassuring smile. It was very quiet, the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustlings of leaves were the only sounds to be heard.

"Blimey, it's like a graveyard in here!" Mr Brocklehurst muttered, suppressing a shudder.

"Yeah, it's a bit eerie, Dad!" Adrian concurred.

"Of course it isn't," Mrs Brocklehurst snapped back.

Hermione could hear the note of tension that had crept into Emily's voice, "the grounds are simply extensive, and it's evening and well…" she trailed off and they walked on in silence. Rounding the next curve, the house itself came into view and Mandy gasped aloud.

Malfoy Manor was enormous and imposing. Two turrets could be seen sitting atop the main building. The front doors were almost as wide as those of Hogwarts', and Hermione recognised the steps leading up to them as being made of marble.

As they started to mount the highly polished steps, the Mahogany front doors were thrown open and Lucius Malfoy stood there to welcome his guests. Hermione felt some of her earlier confidence leave her at the sight of him, and dropped back so she was standing in Mr Brocklehurst's shadow. A tall imposing figure, Lucius stood smiling as the Brocklehurst party climbed the steps. They all entered the hall, and Hermione glance around her with curiosity. The floor was made of the purest white marble, and the walls were lined with gilded gold frames of Malfoy ancestors. All had the same pointed faces and cold grey eyes, inherited by both Lucius and his son. A vast crystal chandelier twinkled down on them, and if Hermione had not known better, she would have thought it was powered by electricity; the light it gave off was so bright.

As the doors closed behind Hermione by a House Elf whom she had not noticed standing in the shadows, Narcissa Malfoy glided into the hall, a smile adorning her face, and the skirts of her clinging organza and silk robes flowing out behind her.

"Oh it is so nice to see you all!" she gushed, like the perfect hostess, as the House Elf took their cloaks and bore them away.

Mrs Brocklehurst made the introductions – her earlier nervousness seemed to have dissipated.

As she was introduced once again to the Malfoy family, Hermione thought she saw a slight smirk playing about Lucius' mouth, but did not dare look too closely. At this point, Draco Malfoy appeared; like his parents he was dressed in formal dress robes and his eyes were fastened on Hermione.

As Hermione watched, Draco approached Mandy and herself. "Miss Brocklehurst," he murmured, before taking Mandy's hand and placing a kiss on the back, "you look lovely this evening." Mandy blushed prettily at his compliments.

'The ever gallant gentlemen,' Hermione thought sourly, pasting a polite smile on her face, as Draco turned his attention to her.

"Miss Granger," he greeted, as he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss upon it. "Your House colours are most becoming on you," he commented with his patented smirk.

It took all of Hermione's will power not to pull her hand away and smack him across his sneering face. Fortunately, she was saved by Lucius, who ushered them into the drawing room.

As Lucius led the party into a room off the main hall, he explained, "We thought we would use the less formal drawing room, since there are so few of us."

Hermione and Mandy exchange nervous glances before being approached by Adrian and Draco. Draco, as the heir of Malfoy, escorted Mandy, followed behind by Hermione, who was escorted by Adrian.

Lucius lead them into a large and cosy looking room with thick Persian carpet covering the floor. French windows dominated one side of the well-proportioned room, while tapestries hung on the walls. A large fire was ablaze in the hearth and Hermione was grateful for its warmth. a grand piano stood to one side of the windows and Hermione could see at a glance it was a Pramberger – the dark wood glinted in the light given off by another impressive chandelier – this one made of sparkling glass.

'I wonder who plays the piano. It's probably charmed to play by itself,' thought Hermione.

Lucius directed them to seats near the fire and Hermione and Mandy sat down together, each grateful for the other's presence.

Lucius went over to a drinks cabinet, and like the perfect host, began asking everyone what they wanted. Hermione could not help watching carefully as he poured out the drinks – both she and Mandy opted for pumpkin juice. Draco, smirking, sat down opposite the two girls, and Hermione felt her heart sink. He fixed both girls with an intense stare which made Mandy fidget nervously. Hermione, on the other hand, being well used to his mannerisms, simply glared back, determined not to let him see past her confident exterior.

The conversation was general, and Hermione recognised it for what it was – small talk; the kind made between people who barely know each other. She was pleased to see that the Brocklehursts were as nervous as herself; they twirled their glasses between nervous fingers, their postures radiating tension. Only the Malfoys were at ease; Lucius leaned languidly against the highly polished mantelpiece, his eyes taking in every nuance of the Brocklehursts' appearance and manner, while Narcissa reclined elegantly on one of the sofas, smiling contentedly while engaging her guests in idle chitchat.

The appearance of a House Elf announcing dinner brought the company to its feet. Lucius gestured expansively as he led them out of the room, escorting Narcissa. They were followed behind by Mr and Mrs Brocklehurst. Again, Draco escorted Mandy, with Adrian and Hermione bringing up the rear.

Lucius lead the party through the hall and down another corridor and into a dining room. Like the room they had just left, the dining room was light and opulently furnished. Light wood panelling covered the walls, and the floor was made of the same polished maple wood. An oval dining table was laid for eight; the white linen and silver tableware glittered brightly in the light given off by the many candles floating above the table. The entire dinner setting exuded a sense of formality and yet had an intimate quality.

Hermione was hoping that Adrian would lead her to a seat as far as possible from the Malfoys, when to her dismay, she noticed the placement cards set out in front of each place. 'Honestly, just my luck,' she thought sourly, as Adrian escorted her to her seat which was on his right. He pulled out Hermione's chair with a cheeky wink and she groaned inwardly when she realised that Draco's seat was on her right.

Sitting down reluctantly, Hermione looked with interest at the seating arrangements of the other dinner guests. On Adrian's left was Narcissa, with Mr Brocklehurst on her other side. On Mr Brocklehurst's left, sat his wife with Lucius Malfoy on her other side. Beside Lucius, and looking terrified, was Mandy, who was sitting by Draco's right. Hermione had to admit that the place settings could have been a lot worse, and her heart went out to Mandy who looked as though she would rather be anywhere than here. Hermione turned to Adrian who was looking round the room with interest.

"Nice decor!" he commented opening his napkin. A line of serving House Elves trooped into the room in perfect synchrony, and placed what appeared to be bowls of the finest Kakavia soup in front of the diners.

"I do hope the soup is to your taste," Lucius said to his guests, and Hermione got the feeling that even if it wasn't, no one would dare say so, "Bon appetite!"

Lucius picked up his soupspoon, and everyone else did likewise. Soon, animated conversation was flowing easily between the diners. This was very different to the stilted conversation of the drawling room – everyone seemed to be more at ease and things were certainly less formal. Hermione suspected the free flowing wine might be responsible for the congenial atmosphere.

"I must say, Catherine Boot is certainly looking better these days!" commented Lucius with a smirk.

"Yes, some new treatment St Mungo's devised – seems to be working a treat!" Mr Brocklehurst's replied affably taking a sip of wine

Hermione let the conversation of the grown ups wash over her, and concentrated on her immediate neighbours. Sneaking a glance at Mandy, Hermione saw she was pushing her food around her plate and not eating much.

Draco noted the direction of her glance, and addressed Mandy. "Is the food not to your liking Mandy?"

"Oh no! It… it's wonderful," Mandy spluttered back, "I'm just not that hungry, that's all."

Adrian sent a quizzical look at his sister and then mercifully steered the conversation to safer grounds.

"So Draco, I hear you're Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. How's that going?"

Glad to be distracted by Adrian's topic, Draco launched into describing tactics, Quidditch practices, players and so on, helped along by Adrian's obvious love for the game.

'It's amazing how men can talk endlessly about Quidditch,' Hermione rolled her eyes, 'but ask them to talk about something more intellectual and they're stumped.'

"…So, it's just a simple case of beating Gryffindor and then the House Cup this year will be ours!" Draco concluded.

Anger piquing at the careless tone in which the Slytherin assessed her House team, Hermione raised an eyebrow at Draco and said saccharine sweetly, "Draco, Slytherin's never beaten Gryffindor at Quidditch, and I doubt that that will happen this year. Although, perhaps only in your dreams, that is."

Draco's eyes flashed, and Adrian tried to diffuse the situation with a chuckle, "Now come on Hermione, that's a bit unfair. I'm sure Gryffindor has a good team, but that does not mean that the House Cup this year is sure to be theirs."

"But Adrian, it's true," Hermione turned to him earnestly, "I'm not being biased! As it is, I don't even particularly like Quidditch. Nonetheless, but Gryffindor have the best team – you just need look at the last few years and you'll see what I mean!"

Adrian shook his head with a smile, and turned his attention to Narcissa who wanted his opinion on something about which she seemed to be amicably arguing with Adrian's father.

"My, my, aren't we confident," Draco said slyly, lowering his voice so only Hermione could hear, "Tell me, Hermione, can you be so certain that Gryffindor will win the Cup this year?" He leaned closer to the red robed witch, eyes gleaming, "Actually, if you're so confident, I'm sure you won't mind if we place a little bet, would you?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed at her dinner partner's suggestion, and she looked away from him.

"If Slytherin wins," continued Draco quietly, "I get to ask any favour I want of you. And if Gryffindor wins, well…" he paused, pretending to consider, "you can borrow any book from our vast library," he scoffed, "now, that would be fair and square , would it not?"

Hermione's face flushed and she could feel her temper rising – 'What a condescending git!' she fumed. She was gripping her knife and fork so hard, her knuckles gleamed white, and blood was pounded in her head.

She erupted in an angry whisper, "Go to hell, ferret! I wouldn't place a bet with you for anything!"

"Feisty, aren't we?" he goaded the girl. "Dear me, is "Miss Perfect" afraid of what I'll ask of you? Come now, where is that famed Gryffindor bravery? Losing the bet would not be that bad, I promise!" he leered.

Hermione's angry retort was cut off abruptly, as the House Elves cleared the dishes before them. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she ignored the young man on her right and allowed her eyes to roam around the room; it was indeed well decorated, and spoke of good taste and old money.

She decided not to respond to Draco's blatant neadling. She was here with the Brocklehursts and would do both her hosts and her House proud. Her equanimity return and as she looked around at the other dinner guest, pointedly ignoring Draco, whose attention was currently on Mandy. Unfortunately for her, Hermione caught Lucius' eyes. She tried not to shudder as she looked into his cold grey orbs, which vividly reminded her of an artic sea.

Too late – Lucius was addressing her; "Miss Granger, Hermione, tell me; it must be difficult for your parents not seeing much of you."

Slightly taken aback at his comment, she countered simply, "Well, I see them as much as possible, and we keep in touch by owl."

Narcissa had also turned her head and was listening to the conversation with interest. "But it must be difficult, nonetheless. After all, there is a big difference between our world and theirs, is there not? Also, as you grow older, your increased workload at school means that you spend more time at Hogwarts. I know that it is rare that Draco manages to come home for the holidays."

"Well, to be honest," Hermione considered, "I was all set to attend a boarding school in London, since Mum and Dad felt that a private school would be best for my education. So the little time I'm able to spend at home is no different if I were to attend boarding school in the muggle world."

Suddenly, the whole table was listening avidly to Hermione.

"So muggles have boarding schools too?" Mr Brocklehurst asked interestedly.

"Oh yes," Hermione smiled turning to him. "For families who can afford it, they generally send their children to boarding schools, as they feel that the education these schools provide is superior to that of state run schools." Hermione frowned, "I'm not sure if that's true, but it's the popular Muggle opinion," she shrugged.

Lucius, who had not taken his eyes off Hermione, asked in a seemingly casual voice, "So Hermione, are you close to your parents?"

Hermione, who was just about to answer, suddenly paused. To give her time to word her reply, she picked up her glass and took a long sip of water. She could not say why, but this question unnerved her and a feeling of unease crept into her stomach.

"Oh, you know," she hedged with a smile and swept her gaze over the others at the table, "I suppose it is like any other teenager's relationship with their parents."

Emily smiled. "Ah yes, teenagers," she shook her head, "I don't know about you Narcissa, but with teenagers, you never know whether you are coming or going!"

"Very true!" Narcissa smiled back.

"Hey!" Adrian exclaimed good-naturedly, "I may be barely out of my teens, but I'm a perfectly rational person!"

The other diners chuckled in response, easing the tension Hermione felt.

Lucius smiled in a perfunctory way, and leaning towards Hermione, he resumed; "An ambiguous answer if ever I heard one." Hermione noticed that his smile did not reach his eyes, as he went on, "so do you get on well with your parents?"

Hermione looked down at her plate, her nerves jangling and then to her relief, Mr Brocklehurst came to her rescue.

"No doubt," Henry interrupted amiably, looking at the brunette with a fatherly smile, "her relationship with her parents is somewhat similar to Mandy's with us – tempestuous!"

To the amused laughter at the table, Hermione muttered, "Something like that," shooting a grateful smile at Mr Brocklehurst, who smiled back.

Mr Brocklehurst then turned the conversation to other topics and Hermione was left to ponder on Lucius' questions. Was it her imagination, or was he showing a tad too much interest in her relationship with her parents?

A gentle tap on her arm made her turn to Draco who sat staring at her.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she blinked, trying not to blush for she hadn't heard a word of what he had said, being too engrossed in her own thoughts.

"I was wondering how you're enjoying your stay with them," Draco nodded towards Mandy, whom Hermione saw to her surprise was talking animatedly to Lucius. Seeing her surprise, he carried on, "they're discussing Pegasuses. It looks as though both of them have an affinity for them," he smiled. "Father really enjoys riding them – they're really magnificent creatures; powerful and beautiful. We have a few in our stable, and they certainly beat riding brooms or horses," he winked.

Trying to suppress her astonishment, Hermione replied cordially, "Oh, my holiday has been wonderful, thanks. It isn't often that Mandy and I are able to spend much time together at school, and this has been an excellent opportunity to get to know her better."

"Well, you certainly seem to get on well with her brother," he flicked a veiled glance at Adrian, who was chatting with Narcissa, "Is this the first time you've met?"

"Oh yes," she smiled, "Adrian's been very nice during my stay with the Brocklehursts. He's very amiable." 'Certainly more than I can say about you,' she thought privately.

"Well, he seems very attentive to you," Draco speculated. "Are you sure there is only friendship between you?"

"What's it to you?" she rolled her eyes. "Of course he's just a friend – just because your mind resides in the gutter doesn't mean that everyone else thinks in the same twisted way."

She narrowed her eyes at him, earning a grin in return. Her fingers itched to pull out her wand and hex that irritating grin off him, but squashing the impulse, she decided to try to be gracious, and searched for a less volatile topic.

"So erm, looking forward to going back to school?"

"My dear Hermione," he drawled in a low, condescending voice, which irked her no end, "no one in their right mind would be looking forward to this term, now would they? What's there to look forward to? The NEWTs? It would only be revision after revision in terms of schoolwork, and I for one, would rather stay at home if revision is all there is to school."

Hermione could not help but agree to these sentiments, but she would never let the Slytherin know that. Besides, she enjoyed attending Hogwarts for the social aspects as well.

"But tell me, Hermione, what have you planned for after NEWTs? What do you intend to do after Hogwarts?" It was a perfectly innocuous question, but why did the question cause her to feel unsettled?

"Oh, I'm not sure yet," she shrugged, turning away and applying herself to her now cold Mousaka. Naturally, she knew that Draco would not be satisfied with such an answer.

Draco turned to his own plate, and continued, "Oh? I find that hard to believe; you don't strike me as the type of person who hasn't mapped out what you want to do." So, what have you applied to do after Hogwarts? I've heard that Potter and Weasley," here he allowed himself a small smirk, "are planning to go into Auror training – are you planning to join them?"

"Erm… I'm not sure," she repeated, shaking her head. "I can't make my mind up – you know how it is. There are so many paths to choose from that it is very hard to decide."

At the conclusion of her statement, Adrian turned to her with a frown. "But Hermione, I thought you'd applied to train as a Healer? Didn't you apply to Stanwick College for Healing and Medi-Wizary not too long ago?"

"Oh?" Hermione said, trying not to show her annoyance, "and how can you be so certain?"

"Well, I'm on the College's Board of Governors, and your application was one of those accepted for next years' intake. Normally, we prefer applicants to have some life experience behind them, but your references and marks were so good, we made an exception."

Hermione felt upset. She did of course know that Stanwick College – the most prestigious institution of its kind, had offered her a place, but for Adrian to blurt it out like this in front of Draco Malfoy when she wanted it to remain ambiguous! She felt like hexing Adrian.

Schooling her features instead into a smile, she remarked, "Well, in that case, I'm sure you're also aware that I've not yet accepted the offer – which brings us back to Draco's original question and my answer."

Looking nonplussed, Adrian insisted, "But you'll accept the offer, Hermione. Stanwick only ever takes the best – they're known for it. No one in their right mind has ever turned down an offer to Stanwick!"

Hermione could feel her already tense nerves becoming, if possible, even tenser. Her temper, which throughout the dinner had been brought near to boiling point, was threatening to explode. Taking a deep drink from her glass, she countered with gritted teeth and a forced smile, "That, Adrian, is something I have to discuss with both my teachers and parents. My decision will be made once I have consulted them and not before."

"Of course you would need to discuss this with your teachers and parents," Adrian dismissed, "but you'll accept the offer, nonetheless!"

"Is that so, Adrian? There are other fields of study open to me as well. I applied to Stanwick in September, and since then, have made a few other applications for different fields of studies."

"My dear Hermione, I would have been very surprised had you not done so, but you've been accepted at Stanwick College, and surely that's all that matters."

Hermione closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing. Until now, Adrian had not shown this stubborn side of him, which made him as pompous as the Malfoys themselves.

Draco, who was enjoying the obviously heated exchange between Adrian and Hermione, suddenly leaned forward, laying a consoling hand on Hermione's arm. His face was expressionless when he addressed Adrian. "Now now, Adrian, leave Hermione alone. I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for her to make up her mind about Stanwick. It won't be the end of the world if she decides not to go into the field of Healing, either. I'm sure," he turned his gaze back onto Hermione "that whatever our Miss Granger decides, it's far more important that she enjoys what she would be doing."

For a moment, Hermione felt gratitude towards her nemesis, and before she realised it, she gave Draco a genuine grateful smile, which he returned. Then, as her brain caught up with her emotions, she felt the smile freeze on her face, and suspicion taking the place of the gratitude. Turning to her left, she saw that Adrian was wearing an odd look on his face; his eyes were narrowed, and a pulse was throbbing at his temple. His usually smiling mouth was turned down. Even as she watched, he turned away from her, starting a conversation with Narcissa so as to avoid speaking to her. She realised too late that she had offended him, and tried to put her hand on his arm to get his attention. However, Draco had other ideas, and sliding his arm around the back of her chair, took hold of her wrist pulling her hand from Adrian's arm.

"How dare you!" she hissed, hoping not to attract the attention of the other diners, "let me go this instant!"

"Certainly," he drawled, and dropped her wrist, leaning back into his seat.

"You…you git, how could you? You…you deliberately provoked him!"

Draco feigned a frown. "Hermione, I'm mortally wounded! How can you say such a thing? I did not provoke him, you did it all yourself. I was simply defending you as any good friend would!" There was a smirk playing about his mouth and his eyes gleamed, "Oh, and I'd keep my voice down if I were you; the grown-ups are beginning to stare!"

Just as Hermione feared, Mrs Brocklehurst was frowning at them from across the table. Emily's eyes were fixed on Hermione's flushed face. Arranging her facial muscles into a semblance of a smile, Hermione looked back at her, trying hard not to let her feelings show.

Around them, everyone was talking in loud hearty voices – the good food and wine had clearly loosened tongues and the atmosphere was relaxed and convivial. Hermione sat back, fixing her eyes on the next course of food. If she didn't say anything else, and kept her conversation to a minimum, she may manage to get through the meal without killing Draco Malfoy. Time passed slowly, in which Hermione pushed food around her plate, and went through the motions of eating and drinking, while inside she seethed with anger. Every time a remark was addressed to her, she answered as briefly as she could, forcing a smile on her face. Adrian was not speaking to her, and Draco had also clearly decided that he would let her simmer down. This suited Hermione fine, and finally after what felt like hours, the dessert was served and then the dinner was over. Everyone pushed back their chairs, and heaved themselves to their feet.

"We'll have coffee in the family drawing room," announced Narcissa, as Lucius escorted her, the pair leading the way out of the dining room and back into the room they had occupied earlier. Draco had approached Mandy to escort her, but Adrian was still obviously miffed at Hermione.

"Mandy, would you like to go with me to the powder room?" Hermione asked the pink clad witch, in order to escape her glowering escort.

Mandy looked relieved at Hermione's request. She turned to Draco, who directed the girls down a corridor.

In the opulent powder room with gild mirrors – 'Thankfully, silent mirrors,' Hermione thought gratefully to herself – and Queen Anne chairs, Mandy gushed, "Oh Hermione, I'd never imagined that the Malfoys would be so nice to me! I didn't know what to expect at dinner, but they are so… so… well, friendly, I guess. Both Draco and Mr Malfoy were so chatty and easy-going!" Hermione forced a smile to her face while inside the knot of apprehension tightened. "I mean, I thought I'd be terrified, but they were so anxious to put me at my ease. Mum's practically ecstatic! Did you see her face?"

"Erm… yeah," Hermione said untruthfully, "Mrs Brocklehurst does look happy. Mandy, I'm pleased you got on so well with them."

After a few minutes of respite from the hostilities at dinner, Hermione's equanimity returned and she felt she was ready to go back into the snake pit.

On their return to the drawing room, Hermione noticed that the velvet curtains in front of the French windows had been drawn shut, throwing the room into a cosy atmosphere, with the fire light flickering over the sofas and armchairs.

Hermione and Mandy sat down on a sofa a little apart from the others, both feeling full, and a little tired.

"Oh dear, we really are defying etiquette tonight," Mandy grinned, "first we run off to the powder room, then we're not sitting with our escorts. Well, it won't matter since the Malfoys seem so friendly to us. They're really taking care of our comfort."

Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy staring intensely at them. As she watched, he made his way over to the chair nearest them, and sat down his long legs stretched out towards the heat of the fire.

"How long do you suppose it will be before we can leave?" Hermione whispered to Mandy, hoping that the boy could not eavesdrop on their conversation.

"Oh, another two hours or so, I should think. It's usual at dinner parties for there to be some kind of after dinner entertainment; and it's either cards or music. Can you play?" she indicated the Pramberger with a jerk of her head.

"Yeah, I had lessons for about seven years."

"Me too – you may think it weird, but socially, it's an asset for a girl to be able to play and sing. Not many can do the latter; every girl from the old wizarding family's takes lessons, and the better they are at the Art," Mandy gave a wry smile, "the easier it is for them to nab a husband!"

Hermione could not help repressing a smile. She likened the entire dinner to 18th Century England, where any decently brought up young lady was put on display by her talents, so as to attract the opposite sex.

"I'll bet you anything that Draco can play the piano very well," Mandy sighed, "It's more than likely that he would have had lessons from the best piano masters."

Lucius' voice broke into their conversation and Hermione started, looking up.

"Does either one of you girls sing and play?" When both nodded in acquiescence, he smiled broadly. "Excellent, excellent! We'll be assured of excellent entertainment this evening then."

With a flick of his wand, Lucius readied the Pramberger for play. He then accioed a binder of music sheets from a shelf and handed it over to the two girls. Curious, Hermione glanced at the sheet music, and had to bite back an exclamation of surprise – they were all muggle music!

Seeing Hermione's shocked expression, Narcissa smiled, "You are surprised, Hermione." She continued with a languid mock shrug, which only the very elegant could carry off with panache, "There is no point in denying it; there is nothing in the wizarding world which can come close to those muggle composers."

"Indeed," agreed Emily eagerly. Turning her head towards Hermione, she addressed the bewildered girl, "Hermione dear, I'm sure you have seen the music in our drawing room? It is all muggle. There aren't any decent wizarding composers, and only muggle ones are worth listening to."

"I couldn't agree more, dear – the rubbish our lot write! Really, one would think their minds were on their dinners, the stuff they come up with!" Mr Brocklehurst said grinning.

"I'm sure you are right," Lucius agreed, making his way to the fireplace, "But then music – and singing, in particular, does not come naturally to wizards. Most good wizarding singers attain their mark only after many years of training. Even then, how could the Weird Sisters ever compare to an Aria by a muggle soprano?"

Mandy hissed into Hermione's ear, "You know, he's right; not many of us can sing that well. Mum and dad are so pleased that I can."

"But… but muggle music," Hermione shook her head and in an answering whisper carried on, "I mean, who would have thought that people like them," Hermione indicated with a quick glance over at Draco, who was talking to Adrian, "would enjoy it."

"Ah, Hermione, don't be so prejudiced!" Mandy grinned wickedly; looking through the folder of music for something she could either sing or play. "If you must know, it's fashionable to only have muggle music in one's drawing room. Lesser families wouldn't be able to afford that, you know! Hmmm, I had better sing – mum would prefer it!"

"Found something?" Lucius interrupted the whispering girls.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy, although, I think I shall sing, if someone else plays this piece," Mandy smiled nervously up at him.

"Not a problem. Draco will accompany you on the piano."

At the mention of his name, Draco got up, and bowed over Mandy. "It would be my pleasure to accompany you. Mandy?" he prompted.

Mandy got up and was escorted to the piano by Draco. She looked at the people gathered in the drawing room looking a bit pale.

"I… I'm going to…" she took a cleansing breath, and tried again. "I'm going to sing The Aria: Venite, Inginocchiatevi, from the Marriage of Figaro."

Mandy passed the sheets of music to Draco, who propped them up against the piano's music stand. Placing his hand on the ivory keys, he looked up waiting for Mandy's signal.

Curiosity getting the better of Hermione, she got up and moved to a chair where she had a better view of both the pianist and Mandy, who was looking terrified. The Aria Mandy was to sing was one Hermione was well acquainted with. Even now she could not get over her surprise that the Malfoys enjoyed music by Mozart.

Turning her attention to Mandy once more, she watched as Mandy nodded her head at Draco. Draco began to play the introduction, and Hermione's eyes almost popped out of her head. Draco played with an assurance that was the result of many years of training. Coupled with his excellent posture, he was indeed a sight to behold. An excellent pianist, Draco's long slender fingers glided effortlessly over the keys, and there was depth to his playing. As the resonant tones of the piano enveloped the room, Hermione did not know what to make of this new aspect of her school adversary.

At the appropriate point, Mandy lend her voice to the accompaniment of the piano. Enthralled and speechless, Hermione leaned back to listen, as Mandy sang her way through the complex Aria. Apart from a slight nervousness betrayed by the tremor in Mandy's voice, she was a good singer, possessing a bright soprano with excellent intonation. Not as powerful as Hermione had expected, she nevertheless captured her audience who were all watching her with interest; pride was evident on the faces of the Brocklehursts, while the Malfoys sat watching impassively.

Too quickly, the performance was over, and a relieved Mandy bowed to the polite applause. In her nervousness, she scurried back to their sofa even before Draco had time to get to his feet to escort her. Hermione gulped. It was now her turn to perform. She wondered if she dared say she had been lying and that she could not sing, but even as the thought entered her head, Draco was bowing before her, with an enquiring look, one finely arched eyebrow lifted in question. Resigned, she got up and he took her arm leading her to the piano.

Hermione passed the music she had picked out from "The Marriage of Figaro" to Draco who seating himself once more at the Pramberger, waiting for her to indicate she was ready. She had decided to sing the aria "Deh Vieni, Non Tardar", more due to the fact that it was slow than anything else. It would force her to take deep breaths, and hence bring under control her panic which was bubbling not far from the surface.

Everyone around the room was now watching Hermione in anticipation. Hermione turned to Draco, who gave her an encouraging smile and nod. Perplexed at the situation she was in, Hermione could only answer his encouragement with a solemn nod, which Draco took as a signal to begin playing. For a second, Hermione thought her voice had failed her, but then all her training of years came flooding back, and as she uttered the first notes of the Aria, she felt herself relax; the breathing techniques instilled into her from childhood were taking over, and she let herself flow with the music. Soon, Hermione even forgot the people watching her, as her pleasure in a hobby for which she now had very little time, came rushing back to her. She closed her eyes and sang, her clear powerful soprano filling the entire room.

The occupants of the room were all leaning forward. The Brocklehursts were wearing varying looks of curiosity and admiration, but the Malfoys were both leaning forward staring intently at her. As she neared the end of the Aria, Hermione opened her eyes and caught the odd glint in Lucius' eyes, which she could have sworn was triumph. She turned her gaze on Narcissa, and saw that she was smiling in a very satisfied way.

"That was exceptional singing, Hermione," Draco murmured as he escorted the blushing witch to the sofa after she received the enthusiastic applause from her audience, "I think more than one of us have been surprised this evening."

Once seated on her sofa, Emily addressed Hermione in a biting undertone. "You didn't mention that you had been professionally trained," she noted, clearly not liking Draco's open admiration of the muggleborn, or the fact that the muggleborn upstart had shown up her daughter's singing talents.

"I started lessons when I was four," Hermione replied, noticing Emily's simmering unhappiness and shrugging. So this was what Madelyn had meant when she had talked of Emily's vindictive side.

"Coffee?" Narcissa's modulated tones broke into Emily's conversation with Hermione. A House Elf was summoned and a trolley was wheeled in. Narcissa poured and handed round the cups of steaming fragrant coffee.

"I thought I could sing well," Mandy whispered to her friend, "but you have a lovely voice. It's so… so, I guess the word would be pure, even if it does sound clichéd."

Hermione gave her a grimace. "Thanks, I guess. But in all fairness, it's the hard work of my ogre of a singing teacher, she was a real battle axe and made me do some horrendous exercises to 'strengthen those diaphragm muscles'," Hermione mimicked the tone of her teacher and rolled her eyes derisively, "I haven't sung for a while, but it's a good stress reliever."

"You're too modest, Hermione," her friend shook her head, "Regardless of how much an ogre your singing teacher might be, you need to have some talent in order to be able to sing. No teacher can direct a voice unless it is directable! The thing with most of our kind," she lowered her voice as she went on, "not many can sing well. Playing an instrument is not a problem with training, but to sing! It's all too rare to hear someone like me who can sing well by wizarding standards, but to hear someone with a quality like yours! I mean, I have never heard a witch sing so well… but then you are a muggleborn," she faltered, not sure if she'd offended her friend.

Hermione smiled to show that she wasn't offended in the least. "You know, I'm learning so much about the wizarding world that I never knew before. I mean – singing is something I have always… well, I've always taken singing for granted."

Both girls leaned back in their seats, thoughtfully sipping their coffee and relaxing in the aftermath of their ordeal. The talk once again became more general, and Hermione with relief coursing through her, let the chatter drift over her. It was therefore a while before she noticed that the sound of voices was slowly dying away, and as she straightened in her seat, pushing the tiredness away, she watched with horror, as of one accord, Mr and Mrs Brocklehurst and Adrian, slumped back in their chairs, their coffee cups falling to the floor. Turning to face Mandy, Hermione saw that she too, was slumped in her seat; one arm hanging limply over the armrest of the sofa, while her head rested against the back.

Glancing at the three conscious Malfoys, Hermione froze at the satisfied smirks on their faces, as they watched the unconscious Brocklehursts. With sudden clarity, Hermione realised that she was now trapped; the fear and unease she had been experiencing all evening, had bee perfectly justified and that the Malfoys had finally got what they had been angling for: to get her alone on their own terms!


	10. Chapter 9

Authors Note: Thanks to both my beta, and for all the wonderful reviews – they are invaluable in their encouragement. I hope I have live up to expectations with this chapter. Many of you have asked questions in your reviews; it would take up too much space to answer them all here but if you would like me to email you back with replies to your queries, include your email when reviewing. Also, I am starting to get writers block hence this took me so long to write – any ideas and suggestions are welcome so feel free to give suggestions as to the direction of the story. The disclaimer can be found in the Prologue as by now, you probably all know.

Chapter nine

For a second, Hermione sat as though stunned, her brain reeling from the shock of what had just happened. Fear and panic warred for supremacy within her, making her feel slightly sick. What had happened, but more importantly _why_? What was she going to do now that the Brocklehursts were unconscious?

Questions raced through her mind with the speed of lightning; maybe the Malfoys had wanted her unconscious too, but for some reason the plan had backfired. This thought had the affect of pulling Hermione from her trance-like state and introduced rationality into her jumbled thoughts. She was sure that whatever the reason for her present state of consciousness, it did not bode well. Quickly, she glanced at Mr and Mrs Brocklehurst, but as before, both were sprawled out in their chairs, with neither showing any signs of coming round any time soon. Hermione swallowed; it was time to take some kind of action and fast. Something Quentin had said just before the end of term popped into her head, "Following the flock can occasionally prove to be a blessing although many people forget this!" At the time, she had not understood what Quentin had meant, but now, trapped with no obvious means of escape, his meaning became clear.

It was time to put Quentin's advice to the test.

Closing her own eyes, Hermione let the cup she had been clutching slip to the ground, the contents pooling around her feet. At the same time, she leaned back in her seat, deliberately letting her muscles relax so one arm dangled over the side of the sofa while allowing her body to slide sideways onto Mandy's unconscious form. She could feel her heart racing, the beat thudding loudly in her ears. Trying to ignore this and hoping the Malfoys would not hear her heartbeat, she waited, hardly daring to draw breath. A second later a shout reverberated around the quiet room.

"Damn it! The girl, the girl, she's unconscious!" Lucius' voice sounded loudly in the silence. The sound of someone jumping to their feet, reached Hermione and she waited with bated breath, as Draco Malfoy strode over to where she and Mandy lay.

"No, this can't be happening," Narcissa gasped, "I made sure… I checked—"

"Well, you can't have checked all that well, can you?" Lucius sounded furious. "I knew I shouldn't have trusted you to do it properly! Now they'll all be out cold for at least two hours before we can administer the antidote. What a waste of time and planning!"

"Father," came Draco's voice from right in front of Hermione, "I saw mother administer the draft; she only gave it to them." Hermione presumed he had indicated the Brocklehursts, "she didn't touch Hermione's cup."

"Of course I didn't! What in the name of Merlin do you take me for?" Narcissa snarled. By the sounds of it, she too had got to her feet and was now pacing the length of the room.

"Well then," Lucius said, forcing himself to remain calm, "if you _didn't_ add the draft to the girl's cup, then why is she unconscious?"

There was a silence and Hermione bit her lip in trepidation.

"I am telling you I did not add anything to her cup," Narcissa eventually said, her voice deliberately calm, "I checked and double checked."

"You know," Draco said thoughtfully, and Hermione knew he was looking down at her prone form, "I would not put it past Hermione to be pretending to be unconscious!"

"Pretending?" questioned Narcissa, evidently perplexed, "why would anyone wish to do that? That position looks extremely uncomfortable!"

"Oh, there may be many reasons for her pretending—" Draco answered, and Hermione could hear the sneer underlining his reply, "fear, a sense of dramatics…oh, for all sorts of reasons."

"Well, rather than just stand here deliberating, let's find out if she's playing games with us or not!" Lucius' impatience was getting the better of him. "There's only one way in which we can settle this once and for all!"

Hermione could hear Lucius' footsteps as he crossed the room. The sound of crockery chinking together could be heard for a moment, and then there was silence.

"I am not sure this is going to work," Narcissa said, a wary note in her voice.

"Oh, but it _will_ work," Lucius responded grimly as his footsteps drew nearer to Hermione's prone figure.

Hermione gulped; what was he about to do? For a moment she considered jumping up and facing him before he had the chance to hex her or whatever he was going to do, but the combination of fear, and the beginnings of cramp in her oddly placed limbs, ensured she stayed where she was. She could feel bile rising in her throat, and swallowed convulsively; the rich Greek food she had consumed earlier was fighting back with a vengeance.

She braced herself, all the time fighting to remain calm and rational; he could not do anything too terrible to her since for some reason yet unknown to her, he wanted her conscious. That ruled out spells such as the stunning spell. She supposed he would hex her so she summoned all the knowledge Quentin had drilled into her, and began to concentrate with all her will; she must resist whatever he was going to throw at her – she must!

Hermione was so engrossed in her thoughts, she did not hear Lucius come up to her and stand over her limp form. It was the sound of his voice that pulled her from her concentration.

"Narcissa, get the house-elves to clean up the spilled coffee and remove the Brocklehursts, they will only get in the way." Then before Hermione could resist in any form, a glass of ice-cold water had been thrown over her front, making her splutter and gasp. She could feel the water seeping through her robes and under clothes onto her skin causing her to shiver. Instinct made her gasp and open her eyes. All fear and panic was forgotten as the ice cold water made contact with Hermione's skin. Jumping up, she faced a smirking Lucius who was standing before her holding an empty glass in his hand.

"You…You…" Words failed Hermione, as she stood dripping water onto the carpet and trying not to let her teeth chatter.

Draco stood beside his father, quietly smirking, letting his gaze roam over Hermione's front, where her now transparent robes were clinging to her breasts, leaving nothing to the imagination. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Draco's obvious once over. Lucius too was smirking; a cold calculating look in his icy grey eyes.

"It is amazing how a simple glass of cold water can refresh one's senses," he drawled casually, while placing the glass on a side table. "I must say I was getting a little worried; all that planning going to waste," he shook his head. "You must be congratulated on your acting ability, my dear Hermione – for a moment you had us all fooled."

Narcissa now walked over to them, her face impassive. Taking out her wand, she flicked it casually at Hermione's soaked robes and immediately they dried, and were once again, returned to their pristine state.

"That feels much better, doesn't it?" Narcissa asked, pocketing her wand and smiling at Hermione, who looked back blankly. "Lucius, let's not frighten the dear girl. She is still in a state of shock."

As she spoke, the door opened, and four house elves came in. Within seconds, they had cleared up the spilled coffee and water with clicks of their fingers. Then to Hermione's horror, the house elves levitated the bodies of the Brocklehursts out of the room.

"Where are they taking them?" Hermione asked, barely suppressing the note of panic in her voice.

"Oh, to one of the guest rooms," Narcissa answered, still smiling, "They are, after all, our guests. Oh, don't worry about them, they will be all right, and when they wake, they won't have any memory of what happened."

Hermione could not believe what she was hearing; the off-handed way Narcissa had brushed the Brocklehursts off, stung her into retorting acidly, "Well it's nice to know that you'll treat them well as they're your guests, but you wouldn't want them getting in the way and upsetting your plans now, would you?"

"Relax Hermione; they'll be perfectly fine," Draco spoke up, amusement colouring his voice, "all we gave them was a simple sleeping draft – nothing more!"

Hermione had no chance to retort; her body was crying out for warmth, and as she tried valiantly not to shiver, Lucius continued, with a satisfied smile on his face, "Now for the real business of this evening. Come Hermione do take a seat. After that awkward position you were in earlier, you might as well get yourself comfortable." As he spoke, he stepped forward and placing an arm around Hermione's shoulders, pushed her forward to one of the sofas drawn up to the fire.

"Narcissa, order more coffee will you?" he tossed over his shoulder as he forced Hermione's unresisting body down onto the sofa. Draco sat down beside her, and Hermione could not help noticing the gleam in his eyes. Her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest; she was so afraid. The heat of the roaring fire was licking at her chilled flesh, welcome warmth to her cold, still shocked body.

Lucius sat down opposite her and Narcissa, after ordering more coffee, joined him.

Slowly, warmth was ebbing back into Hermione and her heart was returning to its normal rate, making breathing easier. The shivering was subsiding, and Hermione's numbed emotions started to stir. As rationality asserted itself into her stunned mind, she looked round at the three people surrounding her. All were wearing calm expressions, observing her, whilst leaning back in their seats, obviously at ease.

Before she could change her mind, Hermione burst out, "Well, what do you want with me?"

"Nothing." The answer so calmly delivered in Lucius's cultured drawl, it brought Hermione up short and she frowned confusedly at him.

"Hermione," Narcissa drew the perplexed girl's attention to herself, as a house-elf came into the room with a coffee-tray. "All we want to do is to have a civilised conversation with you, is that too much to ask?"

Bewildered, Hermione kept her eyes on Narcissa, who was now pouring coffee into four cups. Trying hard to keep down the hysteria she could feel rising in her throat, she said, "A civilised conversation? You give my friends a sleeping draft and practically kidnap me, just so that we can have a civilised conversation? Are you serious? Honestly, I wasn't born yesterday! What exactly do you want with me?"

"I told you, all we want to do is to have a conversation with you like rational human beings without any interruptions," Narcissa said calmly, now handing the cups of steaming coffee around.

Numbly, Hermione took her coffee cup, but did not drink from it. Placing it on to the spindle-legged table beside her, she asked, "And why do you want to have a conversation with me?"

"Well," Draco replied after taking a sip from his cup, "since we couldn't talk to you at the Ashworths ball, and as you're always in the company of Potter and Weasley at school, we had no choice but to talk to you here. All we want to do is talk. No hexes, no curses. I promise." To underline this, he pulled out his wand and placed it in Hermione's lap, "Now you are armed and I'm not. Satisfied?"

Hermione stared down at the wand in her lap, trying, but failing, to make sense of Draco's words. She gulped, trying hard to think clearly, but her mind seemed to have come to a stand still.

"You ought to drink that coffee before it gets cold," Narcissa's voice interrupted her jumbled thoughts; "your system could do with it."

"Um… no, thanks, I don't really want it," Hermione heard herself answering.

"Hermione," Draco said a note of exasperation evident in his voice, "the coffee isn't poisoned you know. Drink it!"

Hermione picked up the cup and was grateful for its warmth. As she took a sip of the hot sweet coffee, she felt warmth flood her. She leaned back into the sofa, savouring the fortified feeling. Slowly, she took another experimental sip and gradually her discomfort receded, allowing her to think coherently for the first time since she had pretended to be unconscious.

"See!" Narcissa smiled at Hermione over the rim of her own cup, "it is helping already. Now back to our previous discussion, all we want to do Hermione is to get to know you properly. As Draco explained, it is very difficult to put aside house rivalries at Hogwarts, so we thought we would take some time out with you, away from outside distractions and have a chat."

"Right," Hermione mumbled, still trying to make sense of what was going on.

"So," Lucius said, smiling jovially, "Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself… you know, your likes and dislikes. In turn, maybe we too can tell you a bit about us as a family."

Completely bewildered, Hermione frowned again at him. "Mr Malfoy," she began slowly, trying hard to think logically, "Before we go into my likes and dislikes, may I ask why you're taking the trouble to have this conversation in the first place? From what I know of you, you're not the type to associate with muggleborns freely, so why the sudden interest? To put it bluntly, what's in this for you?"

There was a slight pause and then Lucius leaning forward in his seat still smiling seemingly casually, explained, "Hermione, as human beings, we are all apt to make mistakes from time to time. I apologise for any offence I or any of my family may have caused you in the past due to your muggle heritage. We're here tonight to put our past behind us and to start afresh."

Trying not to let her shock show on her face, Hermione stared at Lucius in the flickering firelight. She knew she didn't believe a word of what he had said – an old saying of her mother's popping into her mind: "A leopard never changes it spots!" She could not believe that the Malfoys had radically changed their ideas on blood purity overnight. Which put her back at square one – what did they want with her?

She knew she was now playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, but was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery once and for all. She had become quite adept at play-acting since her first major deception at the end of her fifth year, in Professor Umbridge's office.

Leaning forward, she returned Lucius's smile and replied, "Well thank you, but there's no need to apologise – after all it isn't as though we knew each other really well. I mean, there has always been rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, so I suppose we can blame most insults on this." She hoped she had sounded sincere.

"I don't know," Narcissa sighed, shaking her head, "all these house rivalries aren't healthy. They harbour unnecessary aggression, and for what?"

"Well, house rivalries are all a part of being at Hogwarts. Change them, and you will be changing the whole timbre of the place," Lucius expounded, while holding out his coffee cup to Narcissa to be refilled. "On the other hand, it can go too far, as in the case of you two," he indicated Draco and Hermione with a nod, "It is merely a case of knowing where to draw the line, and if allowed to get out of hand, prejudices are formed and hostilities are born."

Hermione stared into the flickering flames of the fire, at the same time giving her leg a good pinch. The resulting pain put pay to the idea that she was dreaming, which could only mean that she must be awake. Blinking bemusedly, she looked at Lucius's relaxed countenance; from what she could make out, he seemed perfectly serious – but how could this be so?

Mustering her thoughts, she contributed, "I understand what you are saying Mr Malfoy, but I think in certain cases, there's such a gulf between people, that it's impossible for them to get along, even if they may want to."

"My dear Hermione, surely we can dispense with the formalities; first names please!" came the reply, still in that relaxed, slightly amused drawl, "Your argument, although logically sensible, has one fatal flaw; if we all acted upon what those around us dictate and refuse to even attempt to jump the hurdles before us, we're simply re-enacting the prejudices we're being fed, and possibly missing out on something truly worthwhile, don't you agree? What is the muggle saying again? We are simply 'following the flock'! I'm quite sure that such a forward thinking, intelligent individual such as yourself can see the futility in such a manner of interaction; it prohibits development of every kind!"

Biting her lip, Hermione allowed the truth of his words to sink in. Innate honesty told her that for once in his life, Lucius Malfoy was right in what he was saying, but to admit this would go against everything Hermione had ever heard about the Malfoy family.

Narcissa's voice pulled Hermione from her confused thoughts. "Leave the abstract for the practical, Hermione. You have heard lots of unflattering things about us. Knowing no better, you believed those from whom you have heard such things, not ever questioning their prejudices, simply because you have had no experiences or basis with which to compare what you have heard," she waved a hand as Hermione made to interrupt, "no, let me finish! As I was saying, until now you have known no better. You have accepted what you have heard of us without question – but surely before you pass judgement, it is only right that you should give us a chance to speak in our own defence, and to show you first hand the kind of people we really are, rather than believing the distorted accounts given by others. Hermione, decency and fair mindedness, things for which I believe you are well-known at Hogwarts, demand this."

Hermione swallowed; she could feel a pang of guilt go through her at Narcissa's words. She clenched her jaws to stop herself from readily agreeing with what Narcissa and Lucius had said. Why was it that they could make her feel guilty for something which her rational self told her was all their own doing? Taking a deep breath, she took another sip of her coffee to give herself thinking time and allow her to sort out her jumbled thoughts.

Casting her memory back, she traced the formation of her current beliefs in her mind. When she had entered the Wizarding world at the age of eleven, she had had no concept of the prejudices facing her, but as the year had unfolded, she had soon learned. To top it all, it had been Draco Malfoy himself, who had first used the term "mudblood" on her, on the Quidditch pitch at the start of their second year. A justifiable anger gripped Hermione at this recollection and she sat up straighter in her seat.

At the same time, she was well aware that she was in a precarious situation; those who could have helped her were lying unconscious somewhere in this vast house, and she was surrounded by people who until now, had been open in their dislike of muggleborns. She had a lot of thinking to do when she got out of here, but for now, her priority was staying alive and escape, and she wasn't going to achieve that by arguing with Lucius – a known Death Eater.

Adopting a polite smile, Hermione looked directly at Narcissa and agreed, "You're right, there is no refuting your argument."

Immediately, she noticed a change in the atmosphere. Draco, who had until now remained silent, smiled as his parents beamed with satisfaction.

"Well then," Narcissa said, expelling a deep breath, "time to start again and put all this nonsense aside. Hermione are you warm enough? That water was ice cold and I would hate for you to catch a chill."

"Oh, she'll be fine," Lucius grinned, getting up and sauntering over to the curtained French windows. Pulling one of the curtains aside, he stared out and carried on, "These young people are hardy souls. You fuss too much Narcissa!"

"Hermione," Draco laid a hand on her arm, "would you like to see our library? I assure you, it's worth a tour." He lowered his voice, whispering conspiratorially, "let's leave now before they—"he indicated his parents with a jerk of his head, '—begin one of their long-winded arguments," he gave her a wink, "believe me, they're not pretty." Taking his wand from where it lay on her lap, Draco drew Hermione to her feet and taking her arm in a firm grip, led her from the room; leaving his parents behind closed doors.

The quiet hall was cool; their footsteps rang out on the smooth marble floor as Draco led Hermione through the intricately carved double doors into the library.

She could see at a glance that it was huge; the floor was covered in a light polished wood, while floor to ceiling shelves lined three walls. Along the fourth wall, a fire burned brightly, flanked by large picture windows. Comfortable armchairs were drawn up to the fire and a large leather-top desk stood to one side of the hearth. If she had not been so worried, Hermione would have squealed with delight at the presence of so many books, some of which were very rare, but trepidation held her tongue and enthusiasm at bay.

She stood in the centre of the large room wondering what to do next. The logs in the fire crackled merrily, bathing the room in a warm glow, while an Edwardian 8 day strike Lancet bracket clock, ticked away the minutes.

"Well?" Draco queried, frowning slightly when Hermione made no move.

"Oh, it's lovely," Hermione said absentmindedly, while her thoughts churned restlessly inside her.

"So lovely that you just stand there staring into space?"

With an effort, Hermione shifted her focus onto Draco and the room in which they were standing. She had to remain calm to allay suspicions. If she was careful, she may be able to find out what this was all about.

She gave Draco the benefit of a wide smile and went over to the nearest shelves. Behind her, she could hear Draco's footsteps following her. Suppressing the impulse to turn around to look at him, she attempted to concentrate on the books in front of her while her other senses tuned themselves to the figure now standing directly behind her.

"This _is_ a massive library," Hermione exhaled, impressed, as she moved along the shelves, mentally cataloguing its contents, "some of these are rare books indeed," she indicated _'Common Creatures of the Twelfth Century'_.

"Yes, I believe we do have some treasures here," he agreed serenely, keeping his unreadable silver eyes trained on her.

Hermione noticed that he sounded as vague as she had, and wondered where his thoughts really lay. Involuntarily she tensed, made aware afresh of how tall he was, and certainly much stronger than her.

As though he could read her feelings, he continued, "You may not have noticed, but I'm not a vampire or other such dark creature; I don't bite. One would think from your rigid posture, that I was about to tear you from limb to limb. Relax, Hermione!"

Hermione suddenly felt Draco's fingers descend onto her shoulders; the fingertips making gentle circular motions along her shoulder blades. If possible, she tensed even more, and tried not to wince as his fingers pressed down into the unyielding muscles of her shoulders and neck.

"Relax, for Merlin's sake. I've no intention of hurting you, I'm only trying to ease the tension which is radiating from you in waves."

He moved his hands so the palms were resting on her shoulders and began to massage the knotted muscles with his thumbs. She became conscious that his fingers were stroking lightly against her collarbones, sending an unwelcome sensation along her already over-wrought nerves. She wanted to pull away, make him stop, but oh, it felt so good to finally release the tension that had been building up within her over the past few hours. She flexed her shoulders, and was grateful the muscles did not protest, as was usual when she was under a lot of pressure.

Unconsciously, she leaned back against him, her shoulders yielding to the pressure of his fingers, as he worked his skilful way over her neck and up to her jawbone.

"Better?" Draco asked in a soft, warm voice, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek and tucking it behind her ear.

"Umm, much," Hermione agreed, as slowly he turned her to face him.

She looked up into the planes and angles of his face, trying to decipher his expression, but the firelight was dim, leaving most of his face in shadow.

"Thanks, that's loads better," she said, not knowing why she was whispering. She tried taking a step back, only to make contact with the shelves behind her.

"Any time," came the equally soft reply, "you were very tense, here." Taking her by the shoulders, he pulled her towards him, and sliding his arms around her, proceeded to massage the middle of her back, causing her to groan audibly as her tense muscles relaxed. She was now standing in the circle of his arms with mere inches separating them. Hermione made to extricate herself, but Draco's pianist hands moved, the right moving up to rest between her shoulder blades, while the left slid down to the small of her back. The kneading pressure of his hands forced her forward against his body, making her gasp. She was now pressed up, flushed against him, her cheek resting against the soft velvet of his robes. She could feel his chin resting on her hair and knew that if she didn't break free soon, she would regret it.

Mustering all her will power, she tried to step away from Draco, quite forgetting the bookshelves at her back. He had obviously not forgotten them, for he said, "Relax Hermione… the shelves are just behind you. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself on them. It's okay," he soothe quietly, "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

The warmth of his voice drained away whatever remained of Hermione's resistance and she allowed herself to lean against him. His reassuring solid presence, warmth, and fresh appealing scent had the effect of calming her nerves, which had reached the limit of their endurance. The last few hours had been some of the most gruelling she had ever experienced, and her tired body was crying out for reassurance and comfort. What harm would it do to rest here for a few moments, savouring the tranquillity of the library, while she pulled her battered thoughts together?

Hermione felt the tension drain from her limbs and gave herself up to the pleasure of being held close by another human being. Draco, sensing her acceptance to the situation, tightened his grip until Hermione's head was resting on his shoulder. Taking his right hand from her upper back, he began stroking her hair, increasing the feeling of languor washing through her exhausted body.

For a moment, there was complete stillness, broken only by the crackling of logs in the fire. Then gently, almost dream-like, he took hold of her chin, and turned her head so their faces were inches apart. Hermione looked into his eyes – no longer cold and icy, but warm and smiling. She gulped; his nearness seemed to be having a strange effect on her. She could feel her breathing quicken as her heart rate accelerated. She had often heard other girls describe Draco Malfoy as handsome but had always scoffed in response, but now she understood all too well what they meant.

She stared mesmerised into his eyes, her mind at a complete and utter standstill. Smiling slightly, Draco bent his head, and gently kissed her slightly parted lips. At the touch of his mouth, Hermione gasped; sensations such as she had never known before were coursing through her, making thought impossible.

He stared into her face waiting for her reaction, but when none was forthcoming, he lowered his mouth onto hers once more. This time, the kiss was more passionate; his mouth more demanding. He traced her lower lip with his tongue, and at the same time began caressing her jaw with his thumb. Involuntarily, Hermione opened her mouth and immediately Draco took the advantage to deepen the kiss. She couldn't help herself and responded in kind, while simultaneously pressing her body into his. Her arms, which had previously been at her sides, went up to clasp the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in the silky hair.

Dragging his mouth from hers, Draco proceeded to press feather light kisses along her jaw and then down her neck, causing Hermione to moan out loud and tilt her head back, allowing Draco further access as he sucked at the soft, soft skin. His mouth had just found the sensitive spot at the base of her throat, when the sound of the doors being pushed open intruded into Hermione's consciousness.

She looked up to see Lucius standing in the doorway, a smirk plastered across his face.

"I apologise for my untimely intrusion. Please, don't let me disturb you," he said amused and backed out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

It was enough. With a jolt of horror, Hermione was brought back down to earth with a bang. She pushed Draco away from her and stepped sideways to put more distance between them. Her hither-to quiet conscience, ground back into life with a vengeance, and she stared aghast at Draco, who was watching her, a quizzical expression in his eyes.

How could she have let him kiss her? She was honest enough to admit to herself that she could have put a stop to it before it had got out of hand, but had not wanted to do so. The word 'Traitor' echoed loudly in her mind, and she flinched, hating herself for lowering her guard. A favourite phrase of Mad-eye Moody's came into her mind: "Constant Vigilance!" Well, she had not been vigilant, and look where that had got her.

"I... this… this should not have happened…" she began, searching for words to break the suffocating silence.

"Oh? And why not?" he drawled, still considering the girl in front of him, "For my part, I rather enjoyed it, and what's more, I could tell, so did you."

Hermione glared angrily at him, for a small part of her knew he was telling the truth – she had enjoyed it, and if Lucius had not come in… she put a stop to that thought, and concentrated on the tall figure standing in front of her eyes glinting with was that triumph?

"You…" she huffed, protesting, "I didn't..."

"Oh, but my little Hermione you did," he insisted, smirking, "that's what you can't get over, and you know it!" His eyes took on an amused look, almost smiling at her indignation.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione resisted the urge to hex the smirk off his face and tried hard to disguise her emotions. "Malfoy, mistakes do happen, as you well know," she said, keeping her voice low so he wouldn't notice the tremor in it. "We both know that what happened just now was an unfortunate mistake. A mistake that was a result of tiredness on my part." She considered the blond in front of her and added, "But I'm not quite sure what your excuse was."

Draco ignored the inherent question in Hermione's statement, choosing instead to comment, "Hmmm, reverting back to being formal with me, are you? Interesting. A mistake – is that what you call it? Fine, in that case, you won't mind repeating what we did, just to make certain that it was only a mistake, and nothing else."

Hermione backed away in alarm as Draco stalked towards her. Trust him to turn the tables on her like this. She knew herself well enough to know what would happen if they were to repeat the last few minutes.

"No," she almost shouted, "No, stop being so absurd, it was a mistake and that is the end of it."

"Hmm, the lady doth protest too much!" he murmured wryly, "Don't tell me you're… scared?"

She could hear the challenge in his voice and swallowed. What to do next?

Then making up her mind she plunged in, "No, I'm not scared – I simply don't wish to catch anything from the likes of you!" She pointed a finger at Draco to emphasise her point.

Hermione's statement wiped the smile off Draco's face. She had to stop herself from bolting at the look that now adorned his face. Fury did not do justice to the expression in his eyes; they had resumed their cold, hardened look, reminding Hermione of the stormy Artic Ocean.

"I see," he snarled softly in a dangerous voice, his eyes never leaving her face, "well… tough!"

As she watched, paralysed, the infamous smirk reappeared, but this time tinged with something she could not identify, but which frightened her more than she would like to admit.

In two strides he had reached her, and before she could retaliate, he had grabbed her arms forcing her body against him. Even as she struggled, he hooked one arm around her, trapping her between the bookshelves and his own body. With the other hand, he forced her face upwards and bent to claim her mouth in a kiss, which was as savage as it was passionate. She tried to pull away as his mouth bruised hers, but he held her too tightly, so her struggles only succeeded in pressing them closer together, instead of putting distance between them.

She made to raise her foot to kick him, but unexpectedly, the kiss gentled, causing her to gasp, reeling as once again she found herself responding to him. She fought the sensations now coursing through her traitorous body as he traced her swollen lips with his tongue – but it was all in vain, as her body seemed to have developed a life of its own, making nonsense of rational thought. She did not resist as he pressed against her, sprinkling gentle kisses over her languid face.

Then stepping back he looked down at her, a lazy smile curling his mouth.

"Another mistake?" he drawled, causing rationality to crash back into Hermione's already tilting world.

She blinked at him, and as her confusion dissipated, she felt her face go hot. She had done it again! She had let him get the better of her! What was worse, she had enjoyed it. And to add insult to injury, he had been the one to end their kiss, not her.

She could feel anger flooding through her, not at him, but at herself. She _should_ have known better! Why had she not been able to resist him? She had never had a problem before in keeping her head when being kissed! She thought back to Victor Krum's kisses at the Yule Ball in her fourth year, and more recently, those of Tom Anger's, her Ravenclaw boyfriend of last year. She even considered her drunk-fumbling kisses with Ron, which happened once or twice, after both had had a little too much to drink. None of them had been able to evoke the heady responses that Draco Malfoy could without even trying. She turned away so he wouldn't see the turmoil raging through her.

"Dear me, I think I've done the impossible," he gloated gently, "Hermione is stumped for an answer! Dear dear, what is the world coming to?"

It was too much. On top of everything else that had happened this evening, Draco's soft taunt was the last straw; the one that broke the camel's back. Hermione felt her throat clogged, and closed her eyes tight to stem the tears that threatened to flow, but they escaped anyway, running down her face in twin rivulets. She knew she was being weak in giving way like this, but she couldn't help it; she was at the end of her emotional tether. It was thanks to her that the Brocklehursts lay unconscious somewhere in this vast manor, and to add to that guilt, she had just committed the ultimate sin – voluntarily kissing a known enemy. She felt sick and miserable at the same time, and tried valiantly to stop her tears, but they kept coming; sliding silently down her cheeks and onto her robes.

A slight sound behind her, made Hermione look round. Draco was staring at her, his eyes huge with shock. "Hermione, I…I didn't mean to… to upset you," he stammered, clearly taken aback at the outcome of his taunt. "Damn it Hermione, I didn't mean it, I just…" he fell silent, clearly at a loss for words. Then as though making his mind up about something, he took Hermione's arm and led her over to one of the seats by the fire, and pushed her into it.

"Here," he said, pushing a freshly laundered handkerchief into her hand and then sitting down beside her.

Taking his handkerchief, Hermione stared at it. Her tears were now subsiding and she rubbed at her swollen eyes with the square of silk in an attempt to clear her vision.

"Are you ok?" Draco asked, in a quiet voice.

There was a silence, safe for the crackling logs, as Hermione stared miserably into the fire. She had to get a grip on herself – and fast – if she wanted to escape with some semblance of dignity. She could feel a headache coming on, but chose to ignore it. Looking up, she encountered Draco's concern gaze fixed on her pale face.

"Fine," she muttered, looking away.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you…"

If she had been feeling less miserable, she would have laughed to hear Draco Malfoy apologising to her of all people, but she simply shrugged and returned her gaze to the flickering flames of the fire. Contempt, both at herself and him, clawed at her insides bringing out her vindictive streak. She knew what she was about to do was wrong, but she needed to hit out at someone – and who better than a hated foe?

"Don't make me laugh Malfoy," she sneered, "Didn't mean to upset me? That's where your talents lie! It's practically what you were put on this earth to do – upset people and make their lives a misery!"

There was a long and very pregnant pause in which Hermione's temper seethed. She could feel seven years of hate coursing through her, and hoped that she had hit him where it hurt most. The sound of his voice switched her attention back to him and she stared at his face. He looked pale and bloodless in the firelight, apart from two spots of colour high on his cheek bones.

"So," he hissed, leaning forward slightly, and keeping his voice low, "Is that what I get for apologising? Verbal abuse?" He shook his head. "You know, I was feeling genuinely sorry for making you cry, but I see now my guilt was uncalled for. I've come across some twisted people before, but none such as yourself, oh no!"

"And exactly what do you mean by that?" she spat out, her fingers clenched around the sodden handkerchief, crushing it.

"Well," he said, a sneer contorting his face, "I've seen other people – mainly from Slytherin, hit out at others because they can't accept their own weaknesses. It's a pretty common occurrence in fact, but then again, they're unlike you, always preaching honesty and integrity. You know, that's what I can't believe – someone who has gone to the effort of setting up a society fighting for the rights of House-elves, hitting out at me because she can't face the fact that she finds me attractive. Now, that's what I can't get over!"

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock, and she closed it quickly. How had he known her real reason for hitting out at him? This question rose in her mind as she tried to decide what to do next, how to fend him off. She knew she had to keep calm and think rationally, but she knew that once again, he had stripped away the veneer behind which she had been trying to hide.

"You know," he carried on, "I actually admired you, can you believe it?" He gave a derisive laugh which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, "Yeah, all this time, I have admired the way you got on with people, your ability to inspire confidence in others, and I actually envied those who were your friends – how stupid could I get!"

He snorted in disgust, and getting up strode over to one of the windows facing them. Pulling back the heavy curtains, he gazed out solemnly at the star strewn sky. Hermione watched his back; his shoulders were rigid with tension.

"How gullible I was, and the lengths I went too, just to get you to think better of me!" He murmured half to himself.

Guilt flooded through Hermione, and it was all she could do to stop herself from pleading with him to give her a chance to justify herself. She hated anyone to think badly of her, be they her friends or enemies. It was one thing to be hated because of her muggle heritage – she had got used to this and had long since accepted the snide remarks directed at her from members of the Slytherin population, but to be hated because someone thought she was dishonest – that she could not stand. She knew the time had come for her to bring to the fore some of that Gryffindor courage for which she was so famed.

"I…I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to hit out at you, it was just… well, everything and…and…"

"And?"

"And… this evening and everything that happened, it was all too much…and I just didn't know what to think."

To admit a weakness in front of Draco Malfoy was something that took all Hermione's determination. She gritted her teeth, as she sat fiddling with the now fully crumpled handkerchief. She doubted that even Harry, when he had faced the Dragon during the first task of the Tri-Wizard tournament, or even when he had faced all those Dementors alone at the end of their third year, had felt so vulnerable and exposed as she did now. The silence stretched, and the ticking of the antique clock on the mantelpiece sounded like a drum roll in the quiet of the library.

Finally, Draco turned to face her. His expression was bland, although Hermione could have sworn she saw a hint of smugness in the cool grey eyes now regarding her pale face thoughtfully. She braced herself, but he merely stood looking down at her. She felt at a disadvantage; he was at least six inches taller than her while standing and the difference in height was even more noticeable as she was seated. Jumping up, she scowled at him before taking a deep steadying breath, and turning towards the double doors leading into the hall.

"Well, I'm off," she said, taking a few steps forward, "it's high time I left."

"Oh, not so fast," Draco drawled, as he moved swiftly to the doors. He stood with his back to them, cutting off Hermione's escape, "we haven't finished our conversation yet."

"Malfoy, I have nothing more to say to you. Now, if you would kindly get out of my way…" Hermione snapped, but Draco just smiled.

"Ah, but _I_ have a few things to say to _you_, and you will not leave here until we have settled a few issues that our previous conversation brought up: As you so graciously apologised, I fully accept your apology. Now, shall we begin anew as friends?"

Hermione blinked at this unexpected turn in the conversation. She gripped the sodden handkerchief so tightly; she felt it coming apart in her fingers. A mixture of rage and weariness filled her, causing her to bite her lip. What should she do now? She could pretend to accept his offer and with any luck he would let her go, but his insufferable arrogance made this difficult. Who the hell did he think he was, to talk to her in that condescending way? He made it sound as though he was doing her a huge favour in accepting her apology!

His voice, made her jump, and she looked up at him again. "Of course," he said silkily, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling widely, "it's up to you, but I would have thought you would prefer to keep our little kiss from public knowledge? What would Potter and Weasley say if they knew what you and I had been up to here?" he lifted an elegant eyebrow to emphasise his point.

Hermione felt her heart sink; she had known that giving in to him was a mistake, and now she was reaping the consequences. Sighing inwardly, she looked him squarely in the eye and said, "Blackmail Malfoy? Really, I would have thought better of you. Surely you could do better than that?"

"Oh, that is surely too harsh," he feigned, giving her an innocent wide-eyed look which didn't fool her for a second. "Come now, you are overreacting, all I'm saying is that I'd just like to be friends. This evening has proved that if left to ourselves, we can get on rather well. You can look upon our little kissing sessions as my insurance that you at least try at being friends, since it's unfortunate for me that there are obstacles at Hogwarts, namely your choice of friends. I anticipate that if given a chance, they are likely to destroy any potential for our budding friendship, which would not only be a great pity, but highly unfair on my part."

Hermione knew the time to shelve her pride had come; she had once again been backed into a corner by a Malfoy, and knew that if she didn't agree to what he was saying, her safety would be questionable. Anyway, what would be the harm in agreeing to an attempted friendship with the boy in front of her? It would be easy enough to ensure the friendship fizzled out before it had even got started – a combination of ensuring she was never out of ear-shot of other people in the library and the use of the Marauders map would surely do the trick, and she could not be blamed in any way! Hogwarts, as she well knew, was a big place, and it wasn't as though she was promising to marry him or something as drastic as that. She shrugged and feigned a sigh before saying, "Look Malfoy, you know as well as I do what you're asking is well nigh impossible! I mean, look at us; we're from opposing houses, and practically opposites in everything! Putting aside house rivalries, this term's going to be hectic enough what with our NEWTs coming up! And _that_'s just the major stuff – I haven't even gone into all the other things I'll be expected to carry out in my capacity as Head Girl. I doubt I'll have the chance to spend time with Harry and Ron, let alone someone from a rival house!"

"My dear Hermione, haven't you heard of the saying, where there is a will, there is a way?" he asked, and Hermione could hear the note of triumph in his voice.

"Fine then," she flashed, trying hard to hide her own relief, "I gave you sufficient warning about my schedule. Don't grumble or complain if you find that we hardly see each other because of schoolwork pressure and stuff!"

"Oh, I won't – you can be sure of that." Draco moved away from the doors and glancing at the clock, strode over to her, placed an arm round her shoulders. "Come on, my parents will be wondering what has happened to us. Anyway the Brocklehursts will be coming round soon."

Hermione started guiltily; she had forgotten all about the Brocklehursts in her emotional state. Clearly, Draco had not noticed his father's earlier interruption, and Hermione fervently hoped that Lucius would not refer to it.

They left the library and headed towards the drawing room. As they entered, Hermione saw Narcissa reclining on the sofa, a book open in her lap. Lucius sat opposite her; he too had clearly been reading. The scene spoke of domesticity, and Hermione shivered; how could someone so cold and calculating present such a convincing picture of solidarity when it suited him?

"Ah, you're back," Narcissa smiled, closing her book and placing it on the table beside her, "Hermione, do you like our library?"

"Yes, you have a very fine library," Hermione responded dutifully, as Draco guided her to a sofa, "it holds some rare and fascinating books."

"Oh yes," smirked Lucius, "very rare and fascinating indeed." He glanced at the clock and carried on, "The Brocklehursts should be joining us at any moment now."

"Hermione, in case I don't have a chance to say this later," Narcissa said, "It has been a real pleasure meeting you, and I hope you will come to visit us again!"

"Maybe during the summer break," Lucius suggested blandly, and Hermione knew by the way he looked at her that he remembered all too clearly the scene he had unwittingly witnessed in the library, "after all, anything can happen between now and then!" He gave Hermione a wink, which she ignored, fixing her eyes instead on the drawing room door. As he finished speaking, the door opened, and the four Brocklehursts strode in all smiling. Hermione's first reaction was to exclaim with relief, but she wasn't given the chance.

"We thought we'd come in as it is getting a little cold out there," Emily began. "Anyway, it saves you the trouble of coming out again."

Mandy, spotting Hermione came to sit by her, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. Leaning towards Hermione, she whispered, "You feeling better now?"

Mystified, Hermione stared back, not having a clue as to what Mandy was talking about.

"Erm," she started, but Narcisa interrupted with a smile, "Oh yes, she is fine now, I think the food didn't agree with poor Hermione's constitution. A terrible pity! When I came in, she was just coming round – such a useful potion!"

"Well," Adrian said, "You missed an interesting tour Hermione, but then I suppose gardens aren't your thing."

"Gracious, look at the time," Mrs Brocklehurst gasped, "we ought to be going! Lucius, Narcissa, this has been a wonderful evening!"

Goodbyes were exchanged, and in the confusion, Hermione didn't have a chance to speak to any of the Malfoys to ask what the Brocklehursts were talking about. She tried to catch Narcissa's eye a few times, but the other woman simply didn't respond to Hermione's pleading look. Draco however, caught Hermione's eye, and smirked knowingly.

Finally, after half an hour of exchanging niceties, the Brocklehursts and Hermione were preparing to take Mrs Brocklehurst's Portkey back to the Brocklehurst Manor. As she placed a finger on the coin being held out by her hostess, Hermione glanced at Narcissa Malfoy once more, and was shocked to see the satisfied smirk playing about her mouth. Next moment, the Portkey had activated and she, along with the Brocklehursts, was being whisked away.

As Hermione's feet hit solid earth once more she blinked, and the hall of the Brocklehurst Manor came into focus.

"Now, off to bed with you," Mrs Brocklehurst chided, "it is very late, way past the time you girls should be in bed. Hermione my dear, are you feeling better? Narcissa said that the potion they gave you to cure your headache and settle your stomach, can result in you feeling a bit disorientated, and cause slight short-term memory loss."

"No wonder Hermione looked a bit dazed when we came in just now," Mr Brocklehurst said, "I was beginning to worry!"

"Oh no," explained his wife, "Hermione was just suffering the after effects of that potion, that's all!"

_'How convenient,'_ Hermione thought as she followed Mandy up the stairs, _'that I should have suffered slight memory loss! Trust Narcissa to come up with something that would account for any 'memory' mishaps on my part.'_

She was now sure that the Brocklehursts' memories had all been tampered with – the Malfoys would have had ample time in which to cover their tracks. Curiosity getting the better of Hermione, she said to Mandy, "Actually Mandy, as it happens, I do feel a bit vague – my brain feels like cotton wool."

Mandy laughed, leading the way into Hermione's suite, "Narcissa said you would feel like that. OK, what was the last thing you remember?" She sat down and Hermione was grateful for Mandy's trusting nature – she would not think it in the least odd that Hermione could not remember the last two hours very well, and would tell her what she needed to know without thinking twice.

"Well," Hermione hedged pretending to screw up her face in thought, "my last clear memory is of us drinking coffee after we had both sung, and after that it was all a bit confusing."

"Yeah, it fits the timeline," Mandy nodded, "Narcissa said the potion will affect the last two hours' worth of memories. Don't worry, the fuzziness wears off after a while – you'll be back to normal in the morning. OK, once we'd all finished our coffee, the Malfoys offered to give us a tour of the house. We all went out of the drawing room to go upstairs to their private art gallery. There was loads of stuff there – you know, paintings by famous people and some very lovely sculptures. Well, we were looking at them, when you said that you felt sick. Mum and Narcissa got you out of the room and I followed. You threw up in the bathroom, and then said you had a headache. You didn't look very well; you were all pale and clammy. Anyway, Narcissa said she had this potion that would soon put you right, but that it had the side effect of temporary memory loss and hence wasn't very popular."

Hermione gulped, this was more ingenious than she had first thought. She nodded, and Mandy carried on speaking.

"Mum was really worried about you, and Narcissa spent some time convincing her that the potion was fine. Well, they gave it to you and you fell asleep. One of the house elves took you downstairs back to the drawing room; Lucius said it was warm in there and that you should be kept warm."

Hermione noticed that Mandy was talking in a flat expressionless voice, as though she were reading from a book. Hermione knew this was an effect of having false memories planted in the mind – the person was unable to make sense of the alien memories, and simply recited the memories as though reading from a script. She sighed and returned her attention once more to Mandy.

"So, the house elf took you downstairs, and we proceeded to the grounds. Oh, Hermione, you should have seen them! They had the nicest gardens imaginable; every variety of plant you can think of. Mum and Dad were entranced—"

_'I'll bet they were,'_ thought Hermione wryly.

"—Then about an hour and half later, Narcissa said she was going to check on you. Lucius said there was some article on some plant he had that would interest Dad, and that he would fetch it for him, if dad would wait a moment. I was getting a bit cold and shivered, so Draco said he would fetch me a shawl – wasn't that sweet of him?"

_'Yeah, very sweet,'_ Hermione thought sarcastically, as she narrowed her eyes.

"—Anyway, there was all this fuss about leaving us alone in the garden, but finally they went back inside. As soon as they'd gone, Adrian began to complain he was bored, and so we all went in too. When we entered the drawing room, there you were, sitting up. That's about it really. Mum then took note of the time and had a fit at the lateness of the hour, and we finally said our farewells, and came home," Mandy ended, her glassy eyes turning towards her friend.

"Yeah, I'm starting to remember now," Hermione lied. Getting up, she stretched and yawned. Taking the cue, Mandy too got up, and after wishing Hermione good night, left the room. Hermione went over to the window, mulling over the night's events.

Relief at being away from the Malfoys coursed through her as she stood at the window. She stared at the clear star strewn sky and had to marvel at the ingenuity of the Malfoy family. It must have taken some doing to ensure every moment was accounted for in the Brocklehursts' altered memories. She wondered where the Brocklehursts had woken up, and accepted the fact that she would probably never find out. Maybe she could ask Draco, and at the thought of him, her fingers clenched on the curtains.

Even now, she could not explain why she had responded to his kisses like that. She supposed he had caught her when she was at her most vulnerable – at least, that was what she hoped. But a small truthful part of her wondered; wondered if it was because of something deeper and more disturbing. Tomorrow, she would go back to Hogwarts, and try and put this evening behind her. She had a lot to talk over with Ginny – the only friend who would understand. Ginny would help her make sense of what the Malfoys had professed to saying, and… maybe between the two of them, they could work out what the Malfoys' motives were. She would also have to start dealing with Draco Malfoy's attempts at friendship. At this thought, her stomach clenched, she would have to tread very carefully around him.

Wearily, she made her way to bed, deciding to put the night's worries out of her mind. There was plenty of time to analyse that evening's events and come up with a plan to deal with Draco Malfoy and his supposed friendship later. For now, she needed to sleep, and so yawning widely, she undressed, and climbed gratefully beneath the sheets.


	11. Chapter 10

Authors Note: Here finally is the Next chapter in which I attempt to answer your questions. Thanks to my betas who have between them, made this readable. As always, please review to let me know what you think.

Chapter ten

Hermione looked around her familiar Hogwarts room and sighed in relief. How long it seemed since she had last been here, although it had been just over two weeks ago that she had left Hogwarts to stay at the Brocklehurst Manor. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think about the night before, and turned her attention to unpacking her trunk. 'Keeping busy would be the best thing right now,' she mused as she put clothes and books away; it would stop her from dwelling on the night before and all that it had represented.

The sound of knocking on the door made Hermione straighten up, cursing softly. For a moment, she was tempted to ignore whoever it was, but the person on the other side of the door showed no signs of going away; clearly whoever it was knew she was back and was determined to speak to her.

Gritting her teeth, she abandoned her partially unpacked trunk and strode over to the door. Yanking it open, she was about to deliver a stinging retort to the intruder, when Ginny Weasley beat her to it.

"And hello to you too," She said grinning at Hermione. "Move out of the way will you? McGonagall said you were back, so I thought I'd come to see how things were." At Hermione's less than enthusiastic expression she went on, "Don't worry, Harry and Ron are in the library for a change – some essay of Snape's – they were in a right sweat about it. Anyway, they don't know you're back so we won't be disturbed."

Hermione moved aside to let Ginny into the room. Shutting and warding the door, she turned to face her red-haired friend, who turned and hugged her. Ginny gazed into Hermione's face, her eyes not missing the dark shadows beneath Hermione's eyes. She frowned, but deciding not to comment, turned and picked up the satin red and gold dress-robes Hermione had dumped on to the bed at Ginny's knock.

"Oh Hermione, these are exquisite!" Ginny breathed fingering the material, "I've never seen them before, and when did you get them?"

"At the start of the hols," Hermione replied as she carried on unpacking her books, thankful that Ginny's attention was diverted for the time being.

"So," Ginny resumed, putting the robes aside, "how was it? I persuaded McGonagall to write you a note saying you had to get back, but I see it didn't work!"

"No, it didn't," Hermione said glumly, sitting down beside Ginny. "Mrs Brocklehurst wouldn't hear of me leaving before the dinner, I had a job to get her to let me leave today. Thanks for trying, anyway." Hermione gave a wry smile.

There was a pause and then Ginny said quietly, "What happened? You look awful – as though you haven't slept in an age!"

Hermione looked into the face of her closest friend, and took a deep breath. She knew it would be useless to procrastinate, for Ginny was one of the most persistent people she knew. Haltingly, she told Ginny everything that had taken place the night before, leaving nothing out. As she talked, she saw the events as though they were happening at that very moment: the dinner scene, the moment she had to get up and sing, the fear she had felt when the Brocklehursts had fallen unconscious, but most of all, the feelings of guilt and mingled pleasure when Draco Malfoy had kissed her in the library at the Malfoy Manor.

Ginny did not interrupt Hermione's soliloquy, but simply sat there, drinking in everything she said. Finally, after more than fifteen minutes of stumbling over her words and hesitations, Hermione was finished. Glancing at Ginny, she noticed that her friend looked as worried as she felt, but she could not deny the sense of relief that seeped through her at finally putting into words the terror she had felt the night before.

"Bloody hell," Ginny muttered, shaking her head in sympathy. "Bloody, bloody hell! Merlin, Hermione, they're one twisted family. I'm surprised that you escaped unscathed. Well, almost unscathed. Being kissed by Draco would count as a bloody traumatic experience, don't you agree?"

Ginny's attempt at lightening the mood worked a bit, causing the girls to chuckle a little at her joke. Hermione wasn't sure herself if she agreed with Ginny – truth be told, she wasn't sure that she would protest too greatly if her experience with kissing Draco Malfoy last night was anything to go by.

Hermione brushed the kiss away with; "To be honest, Gin, I was surprised to get away so easily from the Malfoys too. I mean I had the chocolates on me, as well as my wand, but neither made me feel particularly safe when I was sitting in that drawing room surrounded by three scheming Malfoys."

"Well, even if you'd managed to escape them, you'd have to find your way out of the grounds, and I can bet you anything that there are wards there which would have prevented you from leaving. No, you did the right thing by doing nothing. But Merlin!"

Ginny got up, and went over to the window. She gazed out unseeing onto the grounds below , and Hermione knew she was deep in thought, "What I want to know," Ginny finally said, "is why they went to all that trouble – I mean why be nice to you and feed you all that crap about putting the past behind you? What are they after? There's no doubt in my mind that they were after something – the Malfoys aren't nice to people for the hell of it. Niceties don't come naturally to them!"

Hermione had to smile in spite of her self and then said, "I totally agree. It's something I have been wracking my brains about since the early hours of this morning, and I still haven't come up with a plausible answer."

"Well, let's put it this way: why be nice to you and ignore the Brocklehursts? Why take an inordinate interest in a muggleborn when there are purebloods around? Why you and not the Brocklehurst girl? What is that you have, that the Brocklehursts don't?" Ginny questioned.

"Hmm, I'm not sure," Hermione mused, fiddling absentmindedly with a quill lying on her bedside table, "good questions, all. What _do_ I have that the Brocklehursts who are purebloods, and part of upper-class wizarding society, don't? My collection of muggle holiday souvenirs perhaps?" Hermione smiled at Ginny, causing the younger girl to chuckle and roll her eyes.

Suddenly, Ginny let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, "Hermione, I think I have it! Yes, it would all make sense – the bloody sneaks!"

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked, interest sharpening her voice, "What would make sense, Ginny?"

Ginny had pulled a lock of hair from her ponytail, and was chewing on it while pacing up and down the room, testing her theory with various permutations. Her face wore an expression very similar to Hermione's own when in deep thought. Eventually, she lifted her head, to fix Hermione with an intent gaze, "Well, it's only a theory, and even to me it sounds far-fetched, but it makes sense, in a way."

"Well, it'd be nice to know what this theory is some time soon." Hermione frowned at her.

Unperturbed by Hermione's brusque retort, Ginny went on, "Do you remember that night a few weeks back, when Mum wrote to say that my Aunt Emma had given birth to another stillborn baby?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "I think your mother said the child had Kurbs-Blood."

"That's right. Kurbs-Blood. And, if the rumours are anything to go by," Ginny continued thoughtfully, still chewing on her vibrant hair, "Narcissa Malfoy apparently has had a few stillbirths… which may be attributed to that dreaded disease. I don't know how many stillbirths she had, but Draco was the only one who survived. Of course, it was all hushed up every time she gave birth to a stillborn, but whispers would always get out – you know what it's like."

"God, that must've been awful – carrying a child to term, and then giving birth to a dead baby." Hermione whispered, feeling sympathy rise up in her, "And to have gone through that more than once…" She shuddered, closing her eyes against the very idea of it. "It's something I wouldn't wish even on my worst enemy."

"Yeah, but don't you see?" Ginny emphasised, "Kurbs-Blood affects pureblood parents only! And the Malfoys are affected by it!"

"Like genes you mean?" Hermione questioned, tilting her head, "Is Kurbs-Blood gene related?"

"Gene? Not sure what that is," said a baffled Ginny, "but the thing is that if Kurbs-Blood's in Narcissa and Lucius's blood, it will be in Draco's blood too! Let's say for a moment, that if Malfoy… Draco, that is, marries a pureblood girl like Mandy Brocklehurst; she would probably have Kurbs-Blood in her blood as well. Well, between both of them there would be lots of… dodgy blood. If they had any children, the chances of the kids inheriting the disease would be much higher as the dodgy blood'll come from both sides!"

"Yeah, OK," Hermione agreed cautiously, "Let's say for a moment you're right, and there's so-called 'dodgy blood' in the Malfoy line. Then surely knowing that with this blood disease in their family, Draco would make sure that the pureblood girl he decides to marry doesn't have the disease in her family. No, that can't be the explanation."

"Oh," countered an excited Ginny, "and how would he do that? There aren't any reliable tests around to test for the disease. Not much is known about it, so how can he guarantee that his wife is free from it?" She pointed a finger at Hermione to emphasise her point. "And let me tell you," she continued, "there's not one pureblood family in Europe who hasn't had the disease crop up at some time in their history."

There was silence as Hermione digested Ginny's words, then finally the older girl asked, "but you lot haven't had it – I mean you are all healthy! Aren't you?" she trailed off feeling awkward.

"Yeah, we're healthy," Ginny's excitement was tempered by Hermione's question, "but both mum and dad lost siblings to the disease. Mum doesn't say, but Bill told me once that it was only because Mum wanted a girl that they tried again after Ron. The first girl they had didn't make it, she was born two years after Bill and a year after that, Charley was born."

Hermione was chilled at Ginny's confession. "I'm sorry," she offered.

Ginny shrugged, "We're blessed when you think about it. At least there're seven of us in our family. Most families are like the Malfoys, with only one child, or two like the Blacks. But still, it means that we all have some of that dodgy blood within us. But think about it, Hermione," Ginny returned to the previous topic, "Why risk marrying a pureblood who's most likely carrying the dreaded disease in their blood? It's surely safer and in the Malfoys' interest for Draco to marry a muggle-born witch – none of whom would carry the damned disease in their blood! Maybe the Malfoys think that untainted wizarding blood will help improve Draco's chances of producing children who are Kurbs-Blood free. And since Draco has had a crush on you for quite some time now, why not take this opportunity to do something about it?" Ginny gave Hermione a pointed look. "You're the most intelligent witch Hogwarts has seen for ages, and I bet Draco would seize this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone – well three actually; someone who's intelligent, good looking, and most importantly Kurbs-Blood free!" she grinned.

"Well," Hermione shook her head with a smile, deciding not to comment on the latter part of Ginny's remarks, "that's a pretty ingenious theory even by my standards! But there's one tiny flaw – the Malfoys are extremely proud of their bloodline. I should know, I've endured taunts about my own "lowly" state for the last six years at Draco's own hands."

Ginny simply smiled at this, "Ah, but what's the point of keeping a pure bloodline if it'll eventually die out, which'll most likely happen, if not in our generation, then in the next one. Not even the Malfoys're so thick that they'd risk that at the expense of keeping their blood pure. Oh and remember what Lucius Malfoy said to you? All that rubbish about putting the past behind you and starting again? Damn it, Hermione, he even apologise for all the things they've said to you and that's saying something! He wanted you to think better of them, and if that meant demeaning himself, I wouldn't put it pass him to do so! It's all means to justify the end to him!"

There was another and much longer pause as Hermione thought about Ginny's explanation. Getting up, she too began to pace the length of the room, her mind working feverishly. It was true; the Malfoys had been anxious to please her last night, and Lucius' apology – that was certainly out of character for that proud pureblood. Could Ginny's theory be true? She shuddered, her mind grappling with the possibilities.

"Genes, that's what it is," Hermione said, speaking aloud, her mind worling, "Kurbs-blood must be the result of two recessive genes coming together. I bet you anything that the genes for Kurbs-blood are magic-related so that only purebloods have them – my god!"

"Err," said a mystified Ginny, "you've lost me again, I'm afraid. What do you mean by 'genes'?"

"Well," Hermione explained, adopting her best teacher voice, "you know that our cells all have this substance within them called DNA?" At Ginny's careful nod, she went on, "Well, in the nucleus of the cell – the heart of the cell if you like, the DNA can be found, which contains all our genes. There're 23 pairs of chromosomes in the nucleus of any one of our cells. Each chromosome contains a single strand of DNA, that's _deoxyribonucleic acid_—" at which Ginny began rolling her eyes "—which carries the code for a couple of thousand of genes. I won't go into the genetic code and bases and stuff, or we'll be here all day, but suffice to say, what if there's a fault in the gene which codes for haemoglobin?"

"If that were the case," Ginny said, trying valiantly to keep up with Hermione's train of thought, "we would see Kurbs-Blood in muggles, muggle-born witches and wizards, as well as in purebloods. No, it must be more complex than that. But whatever the reason, it doesn't change the fact that the Malfoys want your blood to ensure their bloodline carries on."

"Assuming, of course, that we are right in our theory," Hermione frowned, side-stepping the issue, and focusing on the science instead, "The Kurb-Blood link with magic makes so much sense. I bet you anything the faulty gene's also responsible for the magic of purebloods in some way, which must mean that the Magic in purebloods must be from a different part of the blood compared with muggle-borns, since the latter aren't affected by the disease! Wow, my god…"

Ginny sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling; she had given up trying to understand what Hermione was going on about, and simply let her talk in the hope she would come to a stop soon.

"Don't you see?" Hermione now asked, "It fits; that's why muggle-borns and muggles don't suffer from Kurbs-Blood. The gene can only be found in purebloods as it must code for both their magic and haemoglobin."

"Tell me something," Ginny asked, turning to face Hermione, "how do you do it? I mean here you are and you've just worked out in a couple of minutes something that healers have been trying to understand for ages! Granted your explanation may not be the right one, but it fits the problem, which is more than can be said for anything St. Mungo's've ever come up with."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled, "I suppose it's because having been brought up in the muggle world, I see things from two perspectives; muggle and magical, and don't have a problem in combining the two as most wizards do, or to separate them into two distinct worlds as most muggle-borns tend to do."

"Yeah, I suppose so," Ginny nodded, and a grin slowly spread across her face. Hermione heard alarm bells go off in her brain, and knew immediately that Ginny was going to ask her something she would not want to answer.

Sure enough, Ginny's next words delivered in such a nonchalant manner that made Hermione squirm, "So you haven't really said much about it… or I might've just missed it altogether… but was he a good kisser?"

ZoZoZoZo

"Oh come on Hermione," said an eager Parvati, "don't tell me there's nothing between the two of you – I mean he danced with you at the Ashworth's ball for Merlin's sake."

It was breakfast time on the first day of the summer term. Students were making their sleepy way into the Great Hall, while above them a cloudless blue sky twinkled down on them. Hermione, buried behind her copy of the Daily Prophet, groaned. Trust Parvati to have been at that damned dance.

"So?" Parvati carried on, leaning forward and grabbing the paper from Hermione, "I mean come on, he introduced you to his parents! That's got to be something!"

"Parvati, how many times do I have to tell you, there's nothing between us, and _never_ will be. He danced with loads of people at that ball, for heavens' sake!" snapped an exasperated Hermione, making a lunge for her confiscated paper just as another owl landed in front of her plate. Stretching out a hand, she took the envelope from its beak and turned it over, glad for the moment for an excuse not to look at Parvati. Turning the envelope over in her hands, she recognised the seal as belonging to Gringott's – it must be her bank statement.

"Oh no he didn't," said a slyly smiling Parvati, holding Hermione's Daily Prophet just out of reach, while stretching out her other hand to grab the envelope from Hermione, "I was there – I saw him. He watched you and Terry Boot dancing for a while, and then, when jealousy won out, he went over, and stole you away from Boot!" she sighed dramatically, which grated on Hermione's nerves no end. "And at the end of the dance, he took you over to meet his parents. Admittedly, you didn't look pleased," Parvati glared at the brunette, "which you ought to've been. It's quite an honour if you don't know. But that doesn't change the fact he still singled you out." Another sigh. "Oh and later on, Narcissa Malfoy spent ages talking to you, before you had to leave."

Hermione swiftly stowed the letter in her bag before Parvati could snatch it away from her. She resisted the temptation to hex her and ignored the girl, fixing her attention instead on Harry and Ron who were making their disconsolate way over to the Gryffindor table.

"Morning," muttered a bleary-eyed Harry, helping himself to porridge, "What's up with you Hermione?"

Ron too, glanced at Hermione's flushed face before loading his plate with eggs and bacon, but Hermione simply glared back. Parvati however smiled and said, "Oh, the usual: girls stuff!" She rolled her eyes in a dramatic gesture and both Harry and Ron promptly lost interest, turning their attention to their breakfasts.

Having successfully diverted their attention, Parvati leaned towards Hermione muttering, "Why is it you're always getting the best looking boys?" She was grinning as she continued, "why don't you just pass some of them on to me – I _certainly_ wouldn't object. Malfoy, yum, yum yum! What I wouldn't give for him to dance with me!"

Hermione had to smile at this; it was difficult to remain angry with Parvati for long, her sunny nature and humorous outlook on life dispelled anger as soon as it was born. Although rather giggly, she was nevertheless harmless, and Hermione knew would not make it public knowledge that Draco Malfoy had danced with her at the Ashworth's ball.

"Parvati, you're welcome to the whole lot of them; Harry and Ron included. To me, they're simply nuisances who interrupt me when I'm trying to pursue an education!" Hermione shook her head in mock exasperation and downed the rest of her coffee.

"I really don't understand you," grumbled a scowling Parvati, pushing Hermione's paper back at her, "the majority of the sixth and seventh year boys spend most of their time drooling over you and coming up with ways to get your attention, and all you can think about is your books – honestly witch, you need to get your priorities straight! I mean, take Malfoy for instance, he's the most gorgeous boy in the whole school and he's had a crush on you since our third or fourth year, and what do you do? You ignore him!"

"I told you, you can have him with my full blessing!" Then, gathering her belongings, Hermione got up from the table, followed a moment later by a grumpy-looking Harry and an equally grumpy Ron.

The trio made their way through the Great Hall, just as the bell for lessons sounded. Around them, students were hastily finishing their breakfasts or making a beeline for the doors into the entrance hall. Hermione speeded up to try to avoid the crush of students now spilling out of the Great Hall in droves.

As they headed out of the castle on their way to Herbology, Harry suddenly said, "What was Parvati talking about? Did you really dance with Malfoy at a ball?"

Hermione suppressed a groan. "Yes," she said testily, striding ahead of the other two. They, however, speeded up to keep pace with her. Clearly, both had been woken up by her single word, although Hermione attributed their alertness to the warm breeze wafting over the grounds.

"What?" Ron gasped, "You danced with that git? Why?"

"Ron," Hermione stopped walking and glared at the red-head trying to keep her temper in check, "first, because it would have looked rude if I'd turned him down, and secondly, I don't see why I have to explain my actions to you! It's up to me who I dance with." She turned away and strode towards the Greenhouses with a sigh. She should have known that eventually Harry and Ron would hear of the Ashworth's dance, but did it have to be on the first day back?

The rest of the day passed relatively quietly; at the start of every lesson, they were reminded of the approaching NEWTs, and more homework was piled upon them. By the time evening rolled round, Hermione felt tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good book, but she couldn't; she had to go to the library and do some research. Harry and Ron looked close to breaking down, and it was only the thought of Quidditch practice later that evening that sustained them through dinner.

Entering the library after dinner, Hermione let the peace exuded by the huge room steal over her. She loved this place as much for its atmosphere, as for the books it held. Around her, students – mostly fifth and seventh years – were poring over large, dusty looking volumes feverishly scribbling notes.

Making her way along the dusty shelves, Hermione collected the books she needed, and settled herself at her favourite table to read and take notes. She would not stay long, she promised herself, only long enough to take the notes she needed to write her Herbology and Charms essays. She badly wanted to have an early night, and suspected that Harry and Ron would want help on their essays later. Soon, Hermione was lost in the books before her, the only sound being the occasional turning of a page, and the scratching of her quill as she took notes.

She did not therefore hear the sound of someone approaching her table, or notice that the chair beside hers was pulled out. She did not even notice that the seat was taken. It was only when a hand was laid on her arm that she looked up from her book. She saw Draco Malfoy smiling at her, leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out beneath the table.

"Malfoy," she gasped in surprised and not a little dismay, "what're you doing here?"

"Hermione, first names please!" came the lazy reply, "I'm here to study, of course, but also to spend time with my… _friend_," he lifted an arched eyebrow, emphasising the last word. Hermione squirmed, as his words reminded her only too vividly of the pact they had made in the Malfoy library only two days ago.

'And what happened just before that pact,' she added to herself inwardly.

Hermione's emotions and thoughts battled within her: she knew that Ron and Harry were currently in the Gryffindor common room, doing their Charms essays, but that didn't mean someone else couldn't come upon them in the library. Moreover, she had had quite enough teasing this morning without wanting to suffer any more. On the other hand, the table they were at was well hidden and surrounded on three sides by high sets of shelves with a window behind; the seclusion was the reason Hermione like it so much. Now however, she became aware of the isolation of the table and cursed inwardly for not having seen this coming.

Frantically, she searched her brain for some excuse to get away, but could not find a plausible one. She glanced down at the page she had been reading, but as she was only half way down it, she could not say that she had finished her work either. She turned to face the still smiling Malfoy, and returning his smile said politely, "That's really nice of you, but not necessary. I wouldn't want to hold you up in your studies. Like you, I've loads of work to get through, and once I've finished with these reference books, I'll have to go."

"Why Hermione? What's the hurry? Curfew isn't for a few hours yet. "

Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn his mouth tightened slightly.

"It's my turn for patrol duty tonight," she said thinking quickly, "and I want to get this lot done before hand."

At her words, his eyes lit up, and the smile returned to his face. "Ah, I meant to speak to you about that," he drawled leaning closer to her, "be an angel and switch my patrol to match yours, will you? At least that'll ensure us some time together!"

"I'm sorry, but the duty roster for the next few weeks has already gone up," Hermione hedged, "maybe in the latter half of the term we can arrange something else. For now, the roster'll have to stay as they are."

Instead of frowning or arguing as she had expected him to do, Malfoy slid an arm round her and pulled her against him. Even as she tried to pull away, he pressed his face into her hair and murmured, "Only you, my little Hermione would stick so rigidly to the rules." His other hand came up to caress the side of her face as he carried on, "I'm sure MacMillan won't mind swapping with me tonight. In fact, I think, I'll speak to him myself about it."

"No," Hermione snapped, trying to push him away. "No don't, it'll just upset the whole schedule and it'll take hours for me to re-sort it all."

Truthfully, swapping duties amongst the prefects was not an uncommon occurrence, and she knew Draco Malfoy was aware of this fact. However, she still felt an unjustified anger rising within her at the thought of him speaking to her in such a condescending way!

Thrusting her hands against his chest, she managed to push him away, and glared into his smiling face. "And while we are on the subject, I'm not your 'little Hermione', so please refrain from addressing me as such!"

Instead of glowering as she had expected him to, Malfoy surprised her once again by simply smiling and leaning back languidly in his chair.

"Whoa, calm down Hermione! I didn't mean to upset you, I only meant to be friendly." He threw up his hands in a shielding motion, as though to protect himself. Gently, he added, "I promise I won't do it again, OK?"

Hermione too, sat back, her fingers toying with the pages of the book lying before her, shame creeping over her at her outburst. Had it been necessary to snap at him quite so ferociously? She could not afford for him to lose his temper – she really couldn't. Her fingers tightened on the page, causing the old parchment to crumble; damn Draco Malfoy and his ability to make her doubt even her own name – damn him to hell!

"Look," she began awkwardly, "it's been a stressful day for me," she tried to muster a smile with little success, "if you'd known me better, I suppose you would've recognised the signs," she shrugged. "Everyone in Gryffindor avoids me like the plague when I'm in this mood. I guess they all value their heads and don't want them to part company with their shoulders." She gave him a self-deprecating smile.

The blond chuckled appreciatively at her attempt at humour. "Ah, I understand. Now that I'm more aware of your moods, I'll make sure to approach you more cautiously then," he quipped, with a warm look in his eyes. "It'll never do to antagonise a lioness when she's not ready to play."

Hermione shook her head at Malfoys gentle jibe. He was just full of surprises this evening.

"Oh, and before I forget, Mother sent you this," he said, as he pulled a parcel wrapped in brown paper out of his bag and handed it to her. "She didn't send it to you directly as she wasn't sure how you'd receive it, but she asked me to pass it on."

Looking perplexed, Hermione tore open the parcel, to find a letter and a package wrapped in cellophane within. Curiously, she opened the letter first, to see Narcissa's elegant copperplate script covering the thick and obviously expensive parchment:

"Dear Hermione,

I was not sure if you would appreciate me sending this directly to you – house rivalries being what they are – so Draco will just have to be my courier for this purpose.

I hope that you are well, and that your studies are not too wearying. I am enclosing a pack of 'Engel's Energisers' which I thought may come in useful in the coming few weeks. These sweets will ensure that your sugar levels remain high without the need for other food. I suspect that like Draco, you are apt to miss or skimp on meals during the examination period, so I thought these might help keep your energy levels up. It would never do to lose your health at the expense of your studies.

It was lovely meeting you during the Easter break, and it is truly a shame that we could not spend more time together. I feel that if given the chance, you and I could become fast friends; we have so much in common. Rarely have I met such a charming young lady as yourself.

Do take care of yourself and let me know if you would like any more of these sweets. They are imported from the Continent, and are unavailable from Honeydukes. But say the word, and I will be pleased to send you more, if you need them.

Your friend,

Narcissa"

Hermione stared at the letter in her hand, and then her eyes moved to the packet of sweets on the table before her. She had, of course, heard of 'Engel's Energisers' as Ron had spent so much of his time over the last few weeks trying to get hold of some. But for Narcissa Malfoy to send some to her! She turned to face Draco, who was looking expectantly at her.

"Umm," she began, not knowing what to say, "Well, do thank your Mother for me, I mean…"

He grinned and said, "I had a feeling she'd send you those – she sends me a supply every year before the exams and they're really useful."

"Yes, but why did she send them to _me_? I mean, we've only met once – well twice, if you count the time at the Ashworth's ball – but the point is that she doesn't really know me!"

Malfoy gazed thoughtfully at Hermione, his chin cupped in his palm. Finally, he said, "I think she's taken a liking to you. I mean she'd heard of you from me before you were formally introduced to her, so she was anxious to meet you. And when she did, she took an immediate liking to you." He smiled as he mused, "You know, she was really put out that night after you left that she couldn't spend more time with you. You see, mother's wanted a daughter for as long as I can remember, and well…"

Hermione could feel her heart sinking; this was all she needed! Shaking her head, she said, "But she met me only briefly, and besides, if she wants a daughter so badly, why doesn't she have one? I don't mean to sound callous, but surely that would be the more sensible thing to do."

Malfoy frowned, pushed an impatient hand through his hair and said with an elegant shrug, "I don't know. Maybe Father didn't want any more children – it isn't the kind of thing one discusses with one's parents you know."

His nonchalance and easy acceptance of Hermione's darts, irked her no end, and she knew that if she did not get away from him soon, she would scream with frustration. Shutting her book with a snap, and gathering her things hurriedly, Hermione hastily packed her bag. She had to think about what Narcissa's favour meant, and she couldn't do that with Draco Malfoy breathing down her neck

Beside her, Malfoy watched her, not saying a word. When he saw that Hermione was almost done with her packing, he said, "Hermione, Mother only thought she was helping by sending you those sweets. Please don't take it as an insult or an offence."

"I'm not," she paused in her packing and closed her eyes. Turning to the Slytherin, she added with a wan smile, "I'm touched she sent me the sweets, but I really need to get back to Gryffindor now, or my work won't get finished by the time I have to start patrolling." So saying, she packed the last of her possessions, heaved her bag onto her shoulder and marched out of the library.

The corridors were quiet as Hermione walked along. The torches flickered as she walked past, the sound of her footsteps echoing loudly in the stone passages. The students she passed had the sense not to get in her way, preferring instead to flatten themselves against the walls as Hermione swept past them, her thoughts in a jumble.

Finally, she reached Gryffindor tower, and after giving the password to the Fat Lady, climbed through the portrait hole. Here too, students were working; parchment and books were scattered everywhere giving the room an even messier appearance than usual. Ignoring her Housemates, Hermione strode through the room, up the spiral stairs to the girls' dormitories, and into her own room.

Shutting the door with a thankful sigh, she fell onto the bed, her bag hitting the floor with a thud. Trust Narcissa Malfoy to contact her, now she would have to write to the woman thanking her for her kindness. Hermione snorted. She could just imagine what would happen next, Narcissa would write back and before Hermione knew it, the woman would have wangled a promise from Hermione to spend part of her summer at Malfoy Manor. 'Over my dead body!' she thought angrily. 'I'd never go there willingly!' Her mind then went back to the conversation she had with Ginny. Even now, Hermione was finding it hard to believe that the Malfoys wanted her for her blood; but as Ginny had said, it all made sense, and surely this last gesture of Narcissa's had proved that beyond doubt!

She sighed again, and getting up, retrieved her bag from the floor. She just had enough time to take a look at the bank statement that Gringott's had sent before her rounds started. Opening the envelope, she sat back and scanned the contents of the statement. Listed therein were the transactions spanning the last five months. Her eyes fell on the first item on the list, dated 15 December, and she stared perplexed at the figure beside it; according to the statement, four hundred galleons had been deposited into her account that day in cash.

Hermione frowned; she was sure her parents would have told her if they had put any more money into her account. That was of course, if they had managed to get to Diagon Alley in the first place. So where had this mysterious amount of money come from? Four hundred galleons was a lot of money – the equivalent of almost two thousand pounds. Her parents were generous, but not _that_ extravagant. Quickly, she glanced down the rest of the list and was relieved to see that her new dress robes had cost no more than fourty galleons, and that she had withdrawn ten galleons on her last visit to the bank, which meant she had four hundred and three galleons left in her volt. A feeling of unease crept into her stomach; who had put the extra money into her account and why? She got up and grabbing a piece of parchment, scribbled a quick note to her parents – this would hopefully sort the whole mystery out, she thought as she rolled up the finished letter and sealed it. She would send it off, when she passed the owlry later on.

ZoZoZoZo

"Concentrate! Try and deflect the hex before it reaches you… Concentrate!"

Hermione heaved herself up from the floor and looked into Quentin's face. The lesson had now been in progress for the last hour and Hermione was heartily fed up; no matter how she tried, she just could not fend off the stunning spell.

"I'm trying," she said rubbing her back, "but I just can't seem to fend it off no matter what I do!"

"Right. You're getting too worked up about this," Quentin decided, looking at her exasperated expression, "You've got to calm down. I suspect that you're trying too hard. Tell you what, let's have a breather." He strode over to one of the armchairs by the fire and sat down, and Hermione after a moment, did the same. Pulling out his wand, Quentin conjured up two cups of steaming tea and handed one to Hermione. She took it, sipping gratefully at the hot sweet liquid.

"So," Quentin questioned, looking at her over the rim of his cup, "care to tell me what's on your mind?"

Hermione blinked in surprise but recovering quickly, gave him a bright smile, "Oh it's nothing," she shrugged, "just the NEWTs. You know what that's like – too much studying and not enough sleep." She gave a rueful grimace to emphasise her point, but Quentin frowned in response.

"You're lying," he stated calmly and deliberately, "we both know it isn't the NEWTs that are occupying your mind. I've known you too long to be fooled by you. So what is it? I doubt it's boyfriend trouble, for I know that you aren't currently attached. And you don't strike me as the type to go mooning around after some boy. So out with it," he encouraged, "what seems to be weighing on your mind?"

Hermione looked down into her cup to give herself time to think – damn the man for not believing her! All her friends did, so why couldn't he? She finally raised her head, looking him straight in the face, and said, "I told you, it's nothing."

"For Merlin's sake, girl! I am not trying to pry!" Quentin snapped. "Heaven forbid I would wish to know the workings of a teenaged mind. But as this thing's taking up most of your subconscious mind and interfering with your concentration, I need to know what it is in order to see if help can be rendered in any way." He ended much more gently than he begun.

Hermione could feel colour creeping up her face and bit her lip; she was mortified to tell Quentin what was weighing on her mind. On the other hand, the man would get insufferably moodier if she did not reveal her problems, and she knew that Quentin would keep badgering her until the story was told. Finally, realising the futility of stalling, she took a deep breath and began her tale – let him make of it what he would!

She talked for over ten minutes in which Quentin didn't interrupt; she told him an abbreviated version of her visit to the Malfoys, their subsequent strange behaviour, and then of the mysterious money that seemed to have turned up in her Gringotts vault, "…and mum and dad swore they didn't put it there!" she concluded flatly.

"Hmm, very interesting," Quentin mused, stroking his chin, "yes, very interesting indeed. Well, I can tell you this if it's any help; Kurbs-Blood _is_ gene related as you surmised. It's only found in pureblood families, as you said, and the gene that codes for Haemoglobin is also responsible for the magic of purebloods. This magic, as you so rightly hypothesize, is found in the haemoglobin of the red blood cells. The magic of muggle-born wizards resides in the platelets of the blood, hence they do not get the disease. There was a lot of work done on the different magic of purebloods and muggle-borns by… oh what was his name again?" Quentin paused, looking towards the ceiling,"… Hill? Hind? Hinder! Yes that's it, Gilf Hinder. He actually wrote a book on the subject. Naturally, this didn't go down too well with most purebloods – imagine being told that your genes are faulty." He laughed ironically, as he finished speaking.

Hermione leaned forward eagerly in her chair, her earlier preoccupation temporarily forgotten, "So this book, where can I get hold of a copy?"

"Hmmm, not many copies exist these days – there may be a copy in the restricted section of the library, of course, but most of them were burned. Most wizards called it 'scandalous'!"

"Damn," Hermione muttered, "but he was right, this Gilf Hinder? I mean the genetic explanation makes sense, so why would wizards reject it?"

"Because it went against everything most purebloods believe in – Hinder said that the only way to stop purebloods dying out was to marry muggle-borns and dilute the blood, so the gene would be less likely to manifest itself in the next generation. Well, you can imagine how that went down with the old wizarding families!"

"But the Malfoys… they even went out of their way to be nice and make me feel welcome."

"The Malfoys must not only know about the genetic basis behind the Kurbs-Blood," Quentin mused, "they must also believe it as well. Because it is true, you know, no pureblood wizarding family has escaped that gene. Have you never wondered why the Lestranges have no children? All of them were stillborn – Kurbs-Blood having killed the infants."

"Ginny was right then, the Malfoys must think that 'diluting their blood' must be the lesser of two evils!"

"Oh yes," said Quentin cynically, "Definitely. Imagine what they would do if they knew you were a _Lestintia_ on top of being muggle-born?"

"I'd rather not think about that," Hermione muttered not looking at him, "Knowing them, I would probably be kidnapped or face something just as nasty."

"Yes, quite possibly," Quentin murmured, "tell me Hermione, the Malfoy heir – what's he like?"

Hermione blinked at the sudden change in the direction of the conversation, but answered him as truthfully as she could, "Well, he's in my year, a Slytherin prefect, and most people avoid him and try not to get on to his bad side."

"Attractive?"

"Umm," Hermione bit her lip, "I suppose so – tall, blond, grey eyes… you get the picture."

"Yes, I suppose so. Probably he's someone who never lacks for female company… someone to whom _you_ may be attracted?"

Hermione's face remained impassive, although she was squirming inside. When had the conversation taken such a personal turn?

"Yes," Quentin continued, seemingly oblivious to the girl. "I think Dumbledore mentioned him once. Something about him being the second best in your year with regards to academic achievements. Brains as well as good looks," he turned his gaze back on Hermione, adding, "a potent combination."

"No, I hardly think so!"

"Are you so sure about that?" he asked mildly, noting with interest Hermione's quick protest. "You are young after all, and good looks, brains and charm are highly attractive attributes to a young lady such as yourself."

"Look, Draco Malfoy is an arrogant git who lives to make mine, Harry and Ron's lives a living hell! But the money," she countered, in an effort to steer the conversation into safer waters, "who put that money into my account?"

"Isn't that obvious?" sighed Quentin raising an eyebrow, "The Malfoys did it of course! No doubt in the hope that you wouldn't notice, and would later become indebted to them."

"The Malfoys?" Hermione gasped, "They did that? No, they can't've – I mean not even they would – well…" she tailed off, not knowing how to end and simply stared into the implacable face of the man opposite her.

"And why not? It isn't any skin off their noses, and it is a sure way of ensuring a claim on you." Quentin sighed, as he looked at Hermione's shocked expression, and then said more gently, "Welcome to the real world Hermione, where people don't mind playing dirty to get what they want."

Hermione knew what he was saying made perfect sense, and then slowly her brain began fitting the pieces of the mystery together and she gasped, "My god, no wonder Narcissa seemed pleased when she found out that my robes had been designed by Madam Tooley – she must've thought that I had spent some of the gold they put into my account to buy them."

"Hermione," now it was Quentin's turn to lean forward, "people like the Malfoys will stop at nothing to get what they want, and we now know they want you. What better way to make you do whatever they want you to do? They will call in that debt when they're sure you do not have the money to pay it. And then when that happens, they'll no doubt demand something else in return – your co-operation in a marriage ceremony to the heir as payment."

"Wow, I've seen cunning before," Hermione breathed, "but not on this level. I'll send that money back to them as soon as possible – that will show them!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Quentin intervened, "better not to show your hand yet. Give it back when they ask for it and not before – and believe me, they'll want it returned, for they gave it to you for a reason. In addition, presently they are under the impression that you don't know they've put the money into your account, and so will think they have an element of surprise as well. Play along with them for the time being, and only return the money when they demand it." Looking at his pocket watch, Quentin stood up from his chair. "Right, back to work then. Come on, we'll try again with the stunning spell."

Hermione placed her empty cup on a side table and walked to the middle of the classroom. She felt much better now that she had shared her worries with Quentin. She should have known it was the Malfoys who put the money in her account – who else would be so conniving?

She took up her position opposite Quentin, who raising his wand, shouted, "Stupefy!" At once, a jet of red light shot out of the end of his wand straight at Hermione, but only managed to get within five feet of her, before coming to an abrupt stop as though colliding with an invisible barrier.

"Excellent!" Quentin praised her with a smile. "Brilliant! I was worried that spell would be too powerful, but no, you managed to block it. Well done!"

"Thanks," said a beaming Hermione, "but Quentin, I wasn't concentrating, I was thinking about that money, so how…"

To her surprise, Quentin's smile broadened even more, "That's even better!" he exclaimed, "It looks as though you are starting to defend yourself subconsciously! Excellent progress! Keep this up, and you will be inducted into the Order as soon as you have completed your NEWTs. Now we'll try this a few more times to be sure!"

After ten minutes of defending herself against the stunning spell, Hermione yawned. Seeing this, Quentin decided to call it a day and so both packed up, ready to depart.

"An excellent day's work," Quentin beamed, "and Hermione, remember what I told you, behave as though you don't know about that money and do your best to ignore the heir. He'll surely be out to woo you. Understand?"

At Hermione's nod, he strode over to the picture of the mountain, and waving good-bye, disappeared. She gave Quentin five minutes and then slinging her bag over her shoulder, made her way over to the painting, touched it, and a moment later appeared in the alcove beneath the stairs to the hospital wing.

Peering out, she could see no one and so made her swift way up the corridor to Gryffindor Tower. The sound of footsteps behind her did not tempt her to slow her pace, and it was the hand descending on her arm that brought her to a skidding stop.

"How did you do that?" Draco Malfoy asked quietly, turning her to face him. Quickly she glanced behind him at the deserted corridor and seeing her glance, he carried on, "Don't worry, Potty and the Weasel are in the library crying over an essay they can't do. Tell me, how did you appear out of thin air?"

He moved closer to her, so there were barely two inches separating them.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione said, her heart speeding up. Damn the fates for conspiring against her. He must have been standing in that one spot – beside a rusty suit of armour – which allowed him to see into the alcove.

"How did you just appear suddenly like that? I mean I was on my way up to ask Goldstein if he knew where you were, considering you weren't in the library, when I saw you appear out of thin air! And we both know that people can't Apparate in the castle, so how did you do it? And where have you been? I haven't seen you all week!" His voice had taken on a petulant note making Hermione want to scream. Raising his other hand, he took hold of her chin, tipping her face up so she was looking directly into his stormy grey eyes.

Hermione resisted the urge to sigh deeply and roll her eyes. Instead, she adopted a business-like voice, "Look, it's late and I was in Professor McGonagall's office. As for not seeing me all week – I did warn you during the holidays that we wouldn't see much of each other once we're back in school."

"Certainly you did, but you do go to the library, and I haven't seen you in there for ages!"

"You know, one would think you were stalking me," she snapped, "I don't have to justify my movements to you!"

At that precise moment, a loud voice filled the corridor, "Hermione?" Ron and Harry were panting slightly, running towards the couple, each clutching a stack of books. Swiftly she stepped away from Malfoy, whose expression had become surly at the sight of the approaching boys.

"Hermione, is he bothering you?" Ron asked when he reached them, thrusting himself between the two and very nearly knocking Hermione off balance as he did so.

Malfoy simply looked down his nose at Ron, his lip curling in disdain, "So did you finally finish your essay, Weasley? Last I saw, you were blubbering about not understanding the title – given up on it yet?"

"You shut your filthy mouth," Ron snarled, his ears going red, "and get out of our way!"

Harry, who had remained silent until now, grabbed Hermione by the arm and wheeled her round to face the stairs. "Come on, Ron," he said, "he isn't worth wasting our breath on!"

Ron, however, seemed reluctant to leave things be, but Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him after her.

"Yes, that's right," Malfoy called after the exiting trio, "get Granger to write your essays for you! It isn't as though either of you have enough brains to write them yourselves!"

Both Ron and Harry made to turn, but Hermione having had enough of Malfoy, told the boys, "Ignore him, and come on!"

She led the way back to Gryffindor tower feeling fed up with men in general. Slamming her way through the crowded common room, she marched up the girls' staircase and into her own room. 'Why can't Harry and Ron just go through one day without picking a fight?' she thought angrily. 'And Malfoy was just as bad.'

Deciding she had had quite enough of men for one day, she warded the door, stripped off, and after filling her bath with scented water, plunged herself right in to immerse herself in the soapy water.


	12. Chapter 11

Authors Note: The reason this is so late, is that I have been suffering from writer's block and apologise in advance if this chapter isn't up to scratch. As usual, the normal disclaimer applies and please review to let me know what you think of the chapter.

Chapter eleven

The Marauder's Map lay on the desk in front of Hermione, the parchment yellow with age. She stared down at it, and once again marvelled at the brainpower that must have gone into creating it. Her eyes scanned the map and she smiled as she saw the tiny ink dots labelled Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in the library. They had been there for the better part of the evening and Hermione knew that both boys would be desperately trying to cram some more knowledge before bedtime. The NEWTs were now only two weeks away and the tension amongst the seventh years was almost palpable. Her eyes skimmed the map once more and spotted the dot for which she had been looking. Draco Malfoy too, was in the library and judging from the distance between himself and Ron and Harry, sitting not too far away from them.

The sound of a knock on her door made Hermione look up, and frowning slightly, she hastily wiped the map and put it away, before getting up and going over to the door. Pulling it open, she was not a little surprised to see Professor McGonagall looking back at her, her face looking strained while her lips were compressed together in an expression Hermione could only describe as disapproving.

"Professor," Hermione spluttered, while wondering frantically what had brought her Head of House to seek her out at this time of the evening, "what can I—?"

"Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you," the bespectacled witch interrupted Hermione, "it is urgent, so I have been asked to take you to his office right away." There was a pause in which the woman Hermione had come to think of as almost a mother figure stared down at her, an unreadable look in her eyes.

Panic flooded Hermione as she contemplated Professor McGonagall's words. What had she done to deserve such an urgent summons from the Headmaster? Was it her parents? Had they been hurt in some way? Had Voldemort—? She cut herself off before this thought could unfold in her mind – no, she would not panic needlessly, she wouldn't! Straightening her shoulders she nodded mutely, before warding her door and following the upright figure of Professor McGonagall down the spiral staircase and out of Gryffindor tower. Students shot Hermione sympathetic looks as she went past but none dared intercept her; they were only too aware of the reception they would get from their Head of House if they dared question Hermione as to her destination.

The corridor was silent as they walked along; only the sound of their footsteps could be heard echoing off the walls and adding to Hermione's feeling of foreboding. For some reason, she couldn't find her voice and although she opened her mouth several times to ask why she was being summoned to Dumbledore's office, her voice wouldn't cooperate. By the time they reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the spiral staircase leading to the heads office, Hermione was feeling sick with fear. She clutched the banister as they rode upwards, willing her stomach to stay in its rightful place and not dance a jig as it was presently doing.

Finally after what felt like years, Professor McGonagall stepped off the staircase and pushed open the door leading to Professor Dumbledore's office. Taking a deep and much needed breath, Hermione followed her in and the heavy door swung shut behind them with an ominous sounding click.

"Here she is," Professor McGonagall said, stepping aside and allowing Hermione a view of the room's occupants, "I trust you won't keep her long – it is, after all, Miss Granger's turn for patrol duty this evening."

"Never fear," came the serene reply. Professor Dumbledore was standing by the window gazing thoughtfully at the two women, "This shouldn't take too long. I'm sure we'll be finished in time for the start of Hermione's rounds."

"Right," said a thoroughly put out Professor McGonagall, "I'll leave you to it then." Turning she swept past Hermione and out of the room without a backward glance.

"Oh dear," sighed Dumbledore, "another teacher whom I have annoyed – I seem to be making a habit of that these days. But enough of this, take a seat."

Intrigued, Hermione sat down facing the desk and after a moment, Dumbledore came and sat opposite her. Looking at his seemingly ageless face, Hermione was dismayed to see lines of fatigue round his mouth she was sure hadn't been there at the start of the year. His eyes too, seemed to be more sombre – the light in them dimmed as he surveyed her.

"So my dear, how are you?" he asked looking directly into her eyes.

Caught off guard by his question, Hermione stared at the old man, and not for the first time wondered at the state of his sanity. Then shrugging, she answered, "Err, I'm fine Professor."

There was a pause in which both parties stared into the faces of the other, each trying to decipher the goings on in the mind of the other. Finally Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and said, "I am sure you are wondering why I have asked you here this evening." At Hermione's nod, he went on, "Well, the truth of the matter is that I need your help – no correction, the _Order_ needs your help."

Hermione leaned forward in her chair, all worry and trepidation about the meeting forgotten. "My help, Professor? But… how can I help you?"

To her surprise, her questions were met with a sigh from the wizard opposite her and for a moment he said nothing but gazed out of the window. Then pulling his mind back from wherever it had wandered off to, he returned Hermione's look and said, "I need you to be keep watch on someone."

Hermione liked to believe that she was not easily wrong-footed. Her coolness and calm way of assessing situations had helped her through many difficult situations; situations like the scrapes she, Harry, and Ron had got themselves into throughout their years at the school; situations like her time at the Brocklehurst and Malfoy Manors. Now, however, she was completely taken aback, and stared at the Headmaster, her mouth slightly agape. She had questioned his sanity many times before, but she was sure that now finally, he had lost it.

Dumbledore, rather than being abashed at her open mouthed astonishment, smiled and carried on, "You may well look shocked but there it is – we need you to work undercover for us." As Hermione continued to gape at him, the old man sighed and said, "I will put you in the picture – I think that is best at this stage." He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, making himself comfortable.

"During the first few weeks of this term – I forget precisely when," he began, "Quentin and I were talking and he mentioned that you had visited the Malfoy family during the holidays. Naturally, he didn't reveal too much as you had talked to him in confidence, but he did indicate that the Malfoys had wanted to talk to you alone. I remember during the holidays Miss Weasley asked Minerva to write a note to you at the Brocklehursts' home requesting you to return to Hogwarts. She didn't elaborate on her reasons for wanting this letter written, but I believe she said something about you wanting to return, though you did not wish to offend your hosts."

Hermione nodded in confirmation, "Well yes, but it didn't work," she muttered staring down at her hands clasped in her lap.

"Didn't work?" Dumbledore questioned, "What didn't work?"

Looking up, Hermione met his eyes as they scrutinised her set face. "Hermione, was that letter intended as a means to get you away from the Brocklehursts before your visit to the Malfoys?"

"Yes, but as I told you, it didn't work. Emily Brocklehurst just shrugged it off and said that someone would've come to collect me if I had been needed that urgently!"

"Hmm yes, a fair point," mused Dumbledore, "but getting back to our previous discussion, why didn't you want to go to the Malfoys' home?"

There was a pause as Hermione wondered what to tell him; should she tell him the truth? If she did tell him, would he believe her? And what if he did? What would happen then? She knew the Malfoys to be powerful, and if it ever got out that she had told Dumbledore of what they were trying to do— Hermione shuddered. It was not so much that she didn't want to contemplate what they would do to her, but to those who could not defend themselves, such as her parents.

Finally it was Dumbledore who broke the now increasingly uncomfortable silence by saying quietly, "I understand that this must be difficult for you, so before you tell me your part of the story, I will continue with my own side of it." Once more he shifted in his chair, looking for comfort before proceeding; "As I was saying, Quentin alerted me to the Malfoys' interest in you so I began to do some research of my own. I know that the Brocklehursts were with you the evening you went to the Malfoy Manor, and naturally I wondered how the Malfoys had managed to get you alone. The answer to this problem presented itself in the form of Mandy Brocklehurst, who reported to Madam Pomfrey a few days ago, complaining of certain female related problems."

He broke off here and for the first time since he had started speaking, looked away. Clearly, "female problems" as he termed them, were not something he was comfortable with. Hermione had to hide a smile at his discomfort, and after a moment he went on.

"…Anyway, as I was saying, Madam Pomfrey ran some tests to try and identify the cause of Miss Brocklehurst's little problem, but could find nothing wrong. Finally, as a last resort, she did a muggle blood test and there it was; the Minhabulous potion – traces of which were evident in Miss Brocklehurst's blood."

"The what potion?" Hermione asked, confused.

"The Minhabulous potion – you won't have heard of it as it is a Class A non-tradable potion and therefore strictly controlled by the ministry." He broke off and sighed once more. Distractedly, he ran a hand through his long hair and Hermione was once again struck at how old he seemed to look. The candlelight picked out the white of his hair and beard making him appear frail and his skin papery white.

"Ah yes… where was I," he resumed, "Yes, the potion; well, this potion has the effect of putting the drinker to sleep for a specified amount of time depending on the dose of potion given. The truly remarkable and dangerous thing, however, is that when the drinker wakes up, their perception of time has been altered, so they believe that no time has elapsed since their last memory."

"But surely they'd realise that they've been unconscious – I mean they may not remember it, but there would be other signs – slight grogginess, a dry mouth and stuff." Hermione contradicted, passages from a Medi-wizardry textbook she had borrowed from the library, coming to mind.

"Alas, the potion ensures there are no such signs, hence it is illegal. I need not go into the potential uses of such a potion."

"No," Hermione said faintly, the memory of that night looming before her making her shiver involuntarily.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said gently, "what happened? I have been able to piece together the rough outline of the evening's events, but have no specific details."

Hermione took a deep breath; she knew it was now time to tell him all – well, _almost_ all – that had transpired that night at the Malfoy home. Haltingly, she outlined the evening's events, all the while keeping her gaze fixed on the desk top between them. It seemed easier to talk if she wasn't looking him in the face. Finally, she was finished and sat back, having skated over the scene in the library, hoping he wouldn't notice.

There was a silence in which Dumbledore looked intently at Hermione, and then quietly he said, "I'm not surprised – it may shock you, but you got off lightly that night. It is unlike Lucius Malfoy to be so… shall we say, polite. He normally prefers to do things in a less subtle way – this must really mean something to him! I assume that you have worked out the reason for the Malfoys' change in attitude towards you?"

"Err well, I think so, that is, I guessed…I mean…."

Dumbledore smiled and then said casually, "Yes, Kurbs-Blood is becoming a real problem." He sighed deeply and carried on, "Alas, the worst of it is that there is no immediate cure for the disease."

"Apart from the one the Malfoys have come up with!" Hermione blurted before she could stop herself, "Trust them to come up with something that requires others to go out of their way just to save their precious bloodline."

Choosing not to comment on this statement, Dumbledore began to wind the end of his beard round his finger. Eventually he said, "This, Hermione, leads me back to the reason I called you here tonight." He leaned forward, his eyes glittering, "You could do a lot to help our cause by befriending Draco Malfoy, and in doing so, winning Lucius' approval. You are in no danger, for Lucius is keen to keep you alive and happy – it suits his purpose to do so. It wouldn't be difficult for you to keep an eye on the comings and goings in Malfoy Manor – a few overnight stays and…" he gave an eloquent shrug.

Hermione had to bite back her smile, though the corners of her mouth were twitching, she said, "But Professor, there's one serious flaw to this plan; I don't know Draco Malfoy that well – won't it look suspicious if I suddenly start being all chummy with him? I mean he isn't stupid – he'd soon catch on. Anyway," she scowled now," I don't like Lucius or Narcissa much, and I doubt I'll pick up anything useful if ever I go back to that manor! They'll be too careful to ensure I don't see anything I am not meant to see – it won't work!"

"Sometimes, in order to understand how the other side works, it is necessary to think like them." Dumbledore said quietly, "It teaches you a lot about the kinds of strategy they may employ when making plans and so on. It is a cardinal rule of chess as well; work out your opponent's strategy and you will be able to predict their next move – ask Mr Weasley, I am sure he'll explain what I mean."

He got up and went over to the window as he spoke. Gazing out at the rapidly darkening sky, he carried on in a serious voice, "You are a Lestintia and therefore much more powerful than any of the Malfoys or any other Death Eaters – if it came down to it, defending yourself wouldn't be a problem. Truly, I don't think it would ever come to this – your own choice of friends has taught you a lot that other young ladies of your age don't know – the art of wandering around without getting caught for instance," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, "Coupled with this is Lucius' desire to keep you alive and well. Surely he'll see to it that you come to no harm."

Hermione could feel a blush staining her cheeks, and swiftly bent her head in an effort to avoid Dumbledore's piercing stare. "Hermione," Dumbledore said with an urgent note in his voice, "by befriending Draco Malfoy and getting him to trust you, you are not only helping the Order, you may be also saving an innocent young man from the Dark! Think about that! As yet, Draco hasn't pledged his loyalty either way, and I know for a fact that he doesn't think much of Voldemort or his ideals. If given the right encouragement, I suspect he might even consider sympathising with our side if he learns to trust you."

"Him, trust me?" she let out a snort to rival those of Ron when in a sarcastic mood, "Professor, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about! You know, the arrogant Slytherin who thinks money and bloodlines can buy him the world? The same Draco Malfoy who's done his utmost to make mine, Ron, and Harry's lives hell throughout our time at Hogwarts?"

"You really think so?" The question was mild, but it had the effect of making Hermione look up into the aged face of the Headmaster, leaning against the window, his body erect as though prepared to do battle, "Is that your true opinion of Draco Malfoy, Hermione?"

"Well," Hermione hedged, "well what else do you expect it to be? I mean…" she trailed off, her certainty draining away to be replaced by confusion. What did she think of Draco Malfoy – hell, what did she even know of the boy? She was honest enough to think that two years ago, the description she had just given would have described his attitude down to a T, but now? Now, she acknowledged, he had changed, he wasn't so arrogant – no, she corrected herself; he was still arrogant, but something had indeed changed. He hadn't call her "mudblood" for at least a year; still, it was something more than this that had changed about him, but she could not for the life of her, put it into words.

Pulling herself together, Hermione tried once more to explain the gulf that existed between her and Malfoy, "You see, Professor, we are too different," she began, "I mean our attitudes, backgrounds and practically everything about us are different. Malfoy could never trust or open up to me simply because we think too differently and there is simply too much bad blood between us." Hermione ended her explanation, and sat back, silently congratulating herself.

Dumbledore regarded her thoughtfully for a moment then keeping his voice bland, he said, "Everything you say is very true – there's no denying this. However, there's very little that goes on in this school that escapes my knowledge," he gave a slight smile, "put it down to my inquisitive nature if you like, but I like to keep an eye on our more, er, unique students. Other staff members are also of a similar mind, so between us, we have been keeping a close watch on yourself and Mr. Malfoy, and so we are aware of his attempts at friendship – swapping prefect duties with other prefects so his duties can coincide with yours, invading the table you have marked out as your own in the library…oh, the list is endless! What, however, does fascinate us all," pushing himself away from the window, he leaned towards her his eyes twinkling, "is how you keep managing to avoid him!"

It took all of Hermione's resolve not to throw something at the indomitable old man – damn him and all his observant staff! It would serve him right to keep him guessing; she wasn't going to tell him about the map! Resisting the urge to scream in frustration, she took a deep breath and turned her mind once more to the problems facing her. The sound of Dumbledore's voice pulled her from her less than charitable thoughts and glancing at him, she saw the laughter had left his face to be replaced by the same look he had worn when she had entered his office not half an hour ago.

"Hermione, none of us can help who we are and who our families are. Draco Malfoy cannot help his parentage, or the ideals that have been drummed into him since childhood. He arrived at Hogwarts not understanding the beliefs he preached and preaching them simply because he knew no different. It has only been recently that he has truly begun to understand and question those beliefs. You may not realise it or want to do so, but he has made a concerted effort over the last year or so to get on with yourself in particular – why else do you think he gave up the use of the word "mudblood"? And this was long before Lucius showed any interest in you. To add to this, he has made various efforts last year alone to be paired up with you in class projects and from what I deduced, it wasn't to trade insults either."

Hermione had to marvel at the man; was there nothing about the students under his care that he didn't know? It was true that Malfoy and she had been paired up for quite a few class projects during their sixth year and although insults had often been exchanged, she had to admit that seven times out of ten, it had been she who had started the fights and not Malfoy.

"That was coincidence," she defended, "pure coincidence and nothing more. Anyway, he still uses every excuse he can to start fights with Harry and Ron!"

"There're some things that cannot be changed over night. The rivalry between the Malfoys and the Weasleys is centuries old, and I suspect that he and Mr Potter will never see eye to eye; it's… what do the muggles call it? A… personality clash?" At Hermione's affirmative nod, he went on, "Putting all that aside, he still made the effort to try and bridge the gap between him and yourself. This, in itself was probably the most controversial thing he could have done, and this is what makes me think that he would trust you given the right encouragement. Hermione, do not hold Draco's upbringing against him. Do what none of your peers refuse to do – give him a chance!"

Hermione was silent, her shoulders bowed; she was honest enough to acknowledge that everything Dumbledore had so painstakingly pointed out was true. Being a believer in equal rights, she had sometimes wondered if Draco Malfoy was the product of a rigid and dictatorial environment. By refusing to befriend and help him, she would be no better than the Malfoys themselves, blinded by her own prejudices and unwilling to accept change due to her own insecurities – was she really that weak?

This thought had the effect of making her sit up and straighten her shoulders. No, she was not weak, and no, she would never sink to the level of the likes of Lucius Malfoy – never! Dumbledore was right, Draco Malfoy's parentage could not be held against him and surely it was worth befriending him, if it meant one less Death Eater to kill and torture innocent people! 'Besides,' her mind whispered, 'you never know…' Clamping firmly down on this thought, Hermione turned her attention once more to Dumbledore's main request.

Within her a battle raged – on the one hand, she detested the mere thought of sneaking around and spying, for in essence that was what Dumbledore was asking her to do; it went against everything she had ever been brought up to believe in, but at the same time, if she could help the Order and maybe stop Draco Malfoy from going over to the dark side – surely that was worth the price of a few scruples?

She began to twist the fabric of her robes between nervous fingers, as her conscience battled with itself.

"What exactly would I be required to do?" she finally asked, hoping fervently the answer would help her come to a decision.

"Oh nothing much," came the nonchalant reply. As he spoke, Dumbledore strolled back to the desk, seating himself behind it. "You would simply be required to keep an eye of the Malfoys' social engagements, and if you are feeling up to it, take an inventory of their library."

Hermione stared at his shadowy profile in the dim light of the room. "An inventory?" she asked, intrigued, "how would my taking an inventory of the books in the Malfoy library help the Order?"

"You have a lot to learn my dear," Dumbledore said, looking gravely at her over his half-moon spectacles, "the smallest things can make the biggest differences. The Malfoys own copies of some of the rarest books in the world – well, I cannot say anymore than this, but remember: sometimes the most lethal weapons are those which are right in front of you, but because of their ability to blend into the background, are never even suspected."

Hermione didn't even attempt to understand what he meant by these cryptic words, but knew what she would do. Dumbledore was right, if someone had to keep an eye on the Malfoys, then she was the best choice. Her magical abilities, not to mention being an Animagus - a fact of which Dumbledore was not aware, would stand her in good stead, and may be the difference between life and death if anything were to go wrong with their plans. Taking a steadying breath she finally nodded, "OK I'll do it!"

XoXoXoXo

"The first thing I'm going to do when these damned exams are over, is to burn all these bloody text books!" Ron exclaimed, leaning back in his chair and running agitated fingers through his hair. His face, like that of Harry, was pale, and both boys had dark shadows beneath their eyes.

"For once," Hermione said, looking up from her own pile of books, "I totally sympathise with you! All this stress's getting to me. I'll be relieved when the exams are over and we don't have to worry about them any more."

"Yeah," Harry said, his eyes flicking to the window through which they could just make out the setting sun, "what really gets me is the tension. I don't mind the studying as much – you get used to that after seven years of it. No, it's the build up to the exams I always hate – you know, everyone on edge and snapping at each other or the girls having hysterics – that kind of stuff."

"Hmmm," Ron agreed, "couldn't've put it better myself mate. Oh well, we have a week to put up with it and then the NEWTs will start and it'll be the beginning of the end!" He grinned at the other two, and Hermione, in spite of herself, returned his grin.

"Well," she said, starting to pack up, "as much as I'd like to continue this conversation, I must be off." At Harry's questioning look, she went on, "Hannah asked me to swap patrol duty with her tonight. Since I'm up to date with my revision, I agreed."

At these words, Ron, whose gaze had been drawn to the window, swivelled round to look at her a frown creasing his brow. "But, you can't…. I mean, Malfoy's the other person on duty tonight!"

"Ron, I know that." Hermione said, standing up and preparing to leave the quiet library. Most students had already left and Madam Pince was busy reshelving used books. She looked irritated and Hermione knew she had spent most of the evening snapping at unsuspecting students.

Ron had clearly not finished what he was saying, and jumping to his feet he said, "But I thought you didn't want to have patrol duty with him – that's what you told us at the start of the term, remember? Why the sudden change?"

"Hannah needed someone to swap with her and as none of the others could, I volunteered." she replied. Trust Ron to question her like a protective older brother, "It's as simple as that. Now I really have to go. You two had best leave yourselves before Madam Pince throws you out!" So saying, Hermione turned and quickly hurried from the library before the boys could detain her. She didn't feel in the mood for an argument – the combination of stress and the warmth of the day had robbed her of most of her energy.

Glancing at her watch, she saw she just had enough time to drop off her bag, before it was time to start the evening's rounds. Making her way to Gryffindor Tower, she pondered Ron's words. It was true that she had avoided patrolling with Draco Malfoy as much as possible throughout the term, but now she needed to spend some time with him. It had been over two weeks since she had had a private conversation with him, and she could sense that he was losing patience. She couldn't afford to push him away too much - he was quite capable of embroiling them in a similar scene such as that which had taken place between them in the Malfoy library during the Easter holidays. Quickly putting that particular scene out of her mind, Hermione didn't even want to consider how Harry and Ron would acknowledge that. Steeling herself, she decided that it was high time she started to put Dumbledore's request into action, and she couldn't do that by continually avoiding Malfoy.

Dropping off her bag in her room, she hurried down to the entrance hall where Malfoy would be waiting. The castle was quiet as she walked – even the portraits on the walls seemed subdued – maybe the heat of the day combined with the stress level of the castle's inhabitants had affected them too? As she hurried down the marble staircase, she spied a figure lounging against the opposite wall tapping an impatient foot as he stared ahead of him. The sound of her footsteps made him turn and look up the stairs, the torchlight picking out his silvery hair.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" Malfoy questioned, taking a few steps towards her, "I thought you'd be tucked away in your room studying."

Hermione couldn't help noticing the slight scowl that accompanied the last few words. Smiling brightly she said, "Sorry to disappoint, but you're stuck with me for the next hour or so as we do the rounds."

"But I thought that Abbot…"

"She couldn't make it tonight, so I swapped with her. Anyway, I haven't seen you for ages," she framed a shrug, "so thought I'd annoy you with my company." She gave another brittle smile as she spoke, and hoped he wouldn't notice her nervousness.

"Nice to know that you think of me sometimes," he grumbled, leading the way through the front doors out into the grounds, "I rather got the impression that you'd reneged on our little bargain – remember?"

Hermione felt her stomach contract at these words, and knew she had been right to swap duties with Hannah. She could tell by his tone that Malfoy was in a peevish mood and she knew that she would have to placate him, and soon! Sometimes he could be so childish!

She sighed and then said, "No actually, you're wrong – I hadn't forgotten about you or our friendship. It's just that things sort of got on top of me and well…" she trailed off, hoping her pause would do the rest.

He didn't reply as they walked out into the grounds. The night breeze felt cool on Hermione's hot face and she breathed deeply, taking in lungfuls of the fragrant refreshing night air. Above them a crescent moon could be seen glowing in the sky, while the sound of a lone nightingale's singing could be heard somewhere in the distance.

"It's so peaceful out here," Hermione murmured, as they skirted the motionless Whomping Willow on their way to check the gates.

"Hmm…very," Malfoy said from beside her, his voice noncommittal. Clearly, his thoughts were not with the beauty of their surroundings. To prove this, he asked, "So, what was so important you couldn't spare a few minutes to talk to me during the past few weeks?"

Hermione felt a slight twinge of guilt at these words and swallowed. 'How does he do it?' she wondered, 'How does he oh-so-effortlessly make me feel guilty for nothing at all?' She sighed; it was once more time to put her acting abilities to the test. Hermione shrugged, not looking at him, but focusing her gaze on the lake, which they were now skirting. "Well," she hedged, "it's been a combination of things really. Firstly our revision workload—" another shrug, "—on its own, that wouldn't have been too much of a problem, but then…" she bit her lip, this was proving harder than she had first envisaged.

"Then?" questioned Malfoy, stopping and taking her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. She looked up into the planes and angles of his face and noted with a feeling of both relief and trepidation, as he smiled down at her, a warm look in his grey eyes. "Hermione, what's happened? Is everything ok?" As he spoke he raised his right hand cupping her cheek. His skin felt warm and slightly rough to her soft skin. It took all of Hermione's will power not to lean into his touch, but to stand motionless, returning his gaze impassively.

"It is now," she replied quietly, whilst silently cursing the lump that had crept into her throat.

"Now? What was wrong before?" He took a step closer, so there were barely two inches separating them. At the same time, he began caressing her cheekbone with his thumb, causing unwelcome sensations to shoot up and down her nerves. 'This isn't fair,' Hermione thought, as she tried to step back away from him, but her legs refused to move. She knew she was out of her depth here and cursed Dumbledore and his ideas – if it weren't for him, she wouldn't be standing here fighting this battle with her treacherous body which seemed to have severed all connections with her brain.

Pulling her wits about her, she said in what she hoped was a steady voice, "Well, just after the last time we spoke, Mum wrote to tell me that Dad became ill with a dose of malaria. Dumbledore wouldn't let me go and see him, what with the NEWTs coming up and so on..." It was true that her father had been ill with malaria, but as the bout had lasted for no longer than a week, Hermione hadn't been too worried. Her father had picked the disease up a few years back while visiting India and it had, as was often the case, recurred now and then. Malfoy, however, didn't need to know this, and she went on, "So, as you can imagine, I was pretty worried about that as well and…" she hesitated, wondering whether to include the little spat she, Ron and Harry had had last week in the Gryffindor Common room lasting all of an hour. Then deciding she would, she went on, "…and just to make things even worse, Ron, Harry, and I had a quarrel last week and things haven't been the same since. I didn't particularly feel like company, what with everything going on, so I've kept to my room as much as possible."

As she had hoped, Malfoy took the proffered bait and in an instant, his whole face lit up, "You, Weasley, and Potter argued? When and what about?"

At Hermione's raised brow, he swiftly masked his expression, and carried on, forcing a note of concern into his voice, "I mean that's really too bad, you being such good friends and stuff, but well…" his mouth formed into a slight smirk, "if only I'd known!" Putting his free arm round her shoulders, he pressed her to him, while with the hand cupping her cheek, drew her head down onto his shoulder.

"Oh it's nothing much, "she prevaricated, "just tension getting the better of us, I suppose. We're back on speaking terms now, but…."

"Things aren't the way they were?" he supplied helpfully, and she nodded her head resting on his shoulder.

So far, Hermione thought, things were going according to plan – well maybe not the way he was holding her, but his mind had been diverted. He seemed to have forgotten about his earlier anger against her, but was now revelling in the thought that she Harry and Ron had argued. Now if she could only extricate herself without any fuss, she would consider the evening to have been a success.

She carried on, "I must admit I'm really worried…. I mean we'll be leaving school soon and will each go our separate ways. I'd hate this trivial quarrel to come between us after such a long-standing friendship."

To Hermione's alarm, Malfoy hugged her closer to him, his arms tight around her. "Sometimes," he said gently while pressing his face into her hair, "these things happen and we must accept it. I know the three of you've been friends for almost seven years now, but people grow up Hermione, and in doing so, can grow apart. Maybe this argument or whatever it was, was a manifestation of these differences. What I find hard to understand however, is why you didn't come to me when all this was going on in the first place. Surely that's what friends are for?"

Hermione felt her heart sink; she hadn't bargained for this. Thinking quickly she said, "Well, I felt miserable and didn't want to inflict myself on others – after all, that would hardly be fair."

"Friends, as I understand it, are there for one through thick and thin," he countered firmly.

Hermione could think of no reply to this so she stayed silent. An unwelcome feeling of guilt was taking hold of her. She wasn't used to telling lies, and what was worse, he seemed to accept what she had said at face value. Why could he not have questioned her further or created a scene? That way, she would not be feeling guilty for deliberately lying to him.

Extricating herself, she turned away, and began to walk back towards the castle with Malfoy following her. "Come on," she said over her shoulder, "we still have the rest of the castle to check." A grunt was all the reply she got, and she felt relief flood her. Malfoy seemed to be deep in thought, and Hermione, not wanting to tell any more lies, was contented to let the silence settle between them.

As they once more entered the castle, she automatically glanced round, but the entrance hall was empty. They walked in silence down the dungeon steps, past the potions laboratories and the Slytherin Common Room.

"It looks as though everyone's gone to bed early," Malfoy said holding his lit wand high above their heads.

"Probably the strain of the exams," Hermione answered, "they seem to have crept up on us this term. It only feels like yesterday the term started and now our Hogwarts days are almost over."

"Very true," he commented and they lapsed into silence as they completed their walk round the lower floors of the castle. To Hermione's relief, all was deserted – she didn't feel up to reprimanding teenagers this evening.

"Thank God," Hermione breathed, as they emerged back into the entrance hall, "Now just the upper floors and then to bed."

"Tired?" Malfoy queried, standing aside for her to mount the marble staircase before him.

"Yeah, I feel drained – I suspect the weather and general stress levels are mostly responsible for it."

"I was thinking," he said as they began to walk down the first floor corridor, "after Hogwarts, what're your plans?"

"Stanwick," Hermione replied, peering into classrooms as they passed, "I've accepted a place there and will be starting in October – you?"

"I'm taking a combined degree in Charms and Potions at Oxford," he told her and Hermione noticed the note of pride in his voice.

She turned in the dim light of the corridor to stare at him, surprise written all over her face. "I didn't realise you wanted to carry on studying!" she exclaimed, "I got the impression from your frequent grumblings in class that you couldn't wait to get away from Hogwarts and studying."

His brows rose slightly and he shrugged, "Ah, that'll teach you to assume when you don't know all the facts then, won't it? You are right about one thing though; I can't wait to get away from Hogwarts. There's more than one reason of course, although I must say it'll be nice to come top of the class for once!" he grinned at her bemused expression, "no know-it-all to beat me in every subject – I can't wait!" The atmosphere between them lightened and Hermione felt herself relax slightly.

Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him, Hermione smiled in return, "It does your ego good to have to work for your grades, you know – it stops you from becoming too big headed. Anyway, my Dad says a bit of healthy competition does no one any harm."

"You know," he said thoughtfully, "I know very little about your family – you never talk about them, why?"

"No reason," Hermione answered, climbing a rickety staircase to the second floor, "we get on very well, but as they don't really understand this world, I've almost disassociated myself from them – oh, not in a bad way," she continued correctly interpreting his raised eyebrow, "it's just that we seem to have come to an unspoken agreement that they'll let me go my own way in this world. They're always there if ever I need help or someone to talk to, but over the years, the Weasleys… well, the Weasleys have sort of taken over my parents' role in the wizarding world."

"The Weasleys? What? They've sort of adopted you? Is that what you're saying?"

Hermione chewed on her lip in thought and then said, "That's one way of putting it. Mr and Mrs Weasley have, well, I suppose they've sort of guided me in the wizarding world – I mean my own parents, not understanding magic and stuff, can't really, so the Weasleys have taken me under their wing so to speak."

"Hmm, I see," he murmured, walking ahead of her. They once again lapsed into silence, each busy with their own thoughts.

"It can't be easy being a part of two different worlds," he continued, "I mean; don't you ever feel as though… well, as though you don't belong in your parents' world any more?"

"Yes and no," she replied thoughtfully. "It's the world in which I grew up, so I do understand it, but at the same time, the wizarding world is the one in which I now spend most of my time, so it's a difficult question."

"Hmm, but how do your parents feel about you spending most of your time in a world they're not part of?"

Hermione sighed, not looking at him. Choosing her words with care, she explained, "Well, at first, it was a novelty to them – it was something different. They were very interested in Hogwarts and magic, but as time went on, the novelty wore off. They began to feel not in touch with my reality… And now—" she shrugged, "—now, we just agree to be different, if you know what I mean."

To Hermione's relief, he didn't comment. Instead, he shot her a piercing look and changed the subject as they mounted the stairs to the next floor. "It'll be nice to get away from Hogwarts, I mean all the house rivalries and all that – it gets too much after a while, don't you think?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," she replied noncommittally, "I'll really miss Hogwarts though – the friendly atmosphere, sitting round the fire in the Gryffindor common room late at night talking, and loads of other stuff. I've made some very close friends thanks to Hogwarts, and'll be sorry to leave its protective walls."

There was a pause, and then he said quietly, "You're lucky. Some of us haven't been quite so fortunate."

Feeling slightly awkward, Hermione put her hand on his arm bringing him to a stop, "What do you mean?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her common sense.

He looked down at her for a long moment, and then drew her against him once more, resting his face on her hair. "Slytherin isn't what you could call a friendly house – it has been moulded to become what others want it to be. You don't build up friendships with people in Slytherin – it's more a case of survival of the fittest – plus it's housed in the dungeons, where it's devilishly cold!" he ended with a wry smile.

"But surely—" Hermione began to protest, but was abruptly cut off by him.

"Tell me something," he said harshly, stepping away from her and taking her chin in his hand, "what's the real reason you've been avoiding me this term?"

Hermione blinked at the sudden change of subject, shock written all over her pale face. She wondered how she had let herself be lulled into this false sense of security. No matter, now she was paying the price.

Not giving her time to answer his question, Malfoy continued, "I'll tell you, shall I?" He scowled down at her and carried on, "Although you're perfectly happy to preach about 'equal rights' and 'equality' to all, it's a totally different story when it comes to practicing what you preach. My parents and I apologised to you for our treatment of you during the Easter holidays in the hope that you'd give us a chance to make amends for our past behaviour. But when we come back to Hogwarts, what happens? Things haven't changed at all where you and I are concerned – in fact, you're even more determined than ever to avoid me! Your excuse about your rough time this term what with your father being ill and your quarrel with Potter and Weasley is just that – an excuse. It still doesn't account for the fact that you've avoided me continuously all term!"

"No," Hermione stuttered, horrified and slightly afraid of this aggressive side to him, "No, that isn't true…"

"Yes, it is," he sighed, seemingly deflated. "And what's more, we both know it." Malfoy's face hardened and he continued, "I'm running out of patience with you, Hermione. I was perfectly prepared to be nice and become friends with you; and as a matter of fact, I still am. What I cannot accept, however, is your refusal to at least give me a chance! You know, in your own way, you're just as prejudiced and narrow minded as those people you shun, people like my father."

Hermione was conscious of her quickened breathing and tried valiantly to pull herself together. She took a step away from him, jerking her chin from his hand. "I am not narrow-minded," she contradicted in a tight voice," and neither do I hold prejudices against others."

"Oh?" he challenged, lifting an eyebrow, "Really? From your behaviour so far, I wouldn't have guessed that you were so liberal minded."

"Well I am," she spat out, all the time dimly aware of the hole she was digging herself into, but unable to stop herself, "I see everyone as being equal, unlike some I could mention. I don't judge others according to bloodline, or social standing or wealth or any other condition you may care to mention!"

"Prove it!"

Those two fatalistic words made her blink owlishly at him. "What?" she questioned, staring at his shadowy face in the dim light given off by the flickering torches above them.

"Prove it," he repeated, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest, "Anyone can stand there and preach sentiments – I dare say even Peeves could manage that! So prove you mean what you say. After all, how else will you be believed?" he taunted, smiling.

It wasn't often that Hermione lost her temper – she could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had allowed pride to overcome her naturally cautious nature, and this was without doubt one of these times. She glared back at him, and even as she opened her mouth to accept the challenge, every one of her instincts screamed at her to ignore him and walk away. She wanted to obey those instincts, but she couldn't. He had done the one thing guaranteed to make her blood boil in questioning her integrity.

"OK," she said in a forcedly calm voice. "You're on. I'll prove to you that I don't hold any prejudices against anyone!"

"Fine," he replied smirking, "in that case, you won't mind spending time with me and my parents during the summer break then, will you? We plan to spend time at our villa in the South of France – care to join us?"

Hermione hesitated and as she did so, rationality finally asserted itself in her mind. At his quiet mocking laugh however, her head snapped up, and she once more glared at him before gritting out, "If my parents haven't booked a holiday already, I'd love to join you."

XoXoXoXo

The chatter in the Great Hall seemed to engulf Hermione as she stared at the letter clutched tightly in her hand. Narcissa's elegant script danced before her eyes as she tried to make sense of the neatly written words.

"Dear Hermione,

I hope you are well, and that your studies are proceeding excellently. Now that the exams are drawing near, I don't doubt that you are starting to feel the tension the exams always seem to cause. I remember when I was your age, the tension amongst us students was almost unbearable. I can't tell you how relieved I was when the exams were finally over.

I am writing to tell you how pleased both Lucius and I were at the news that you will be spending part of your summer with us. Imagine our surprise and delight when we got Draco's letter informing us that you hope to spend time together with us during the summer before embarking on your chosen career path.

As you know, I have never agreed with the rivalry that goes on between the Houses at Hogwarts, and therefore, I take great pleasure in the fact that the two of you have put this ridiculous rivalry aside to become good friends. Frankly, there is no telling how much more your friendship could become given time. I have always felt that you both are eminently suited for each other, but thanks to the division at Hogwarts, any friendship between you has always been curtailed.

I must say I am looking forward to spending some time with you myself - being the only woman in a household of men, it can get very lonely sometimes. It will be wonderful to have another woman with whom to go shopping and so forth. Men, however much they try, just cannot see things from the same perspective as another woman.

Take care of yourself and remember not to neglect your health in favour of your studies. You are a brilliant girl, and you will do better in your studies if you take enough rest and take plenty of fluids.

If there is anything you need, just let me know and I'll be happy to send it to you.

Your friend,

Narcissa."

Hermione folded the letter with trembling fingers and put it into her bag. Across the table, Ron looked up from his plate of eggs and sausages, and frowned.

"You okay, Hermione?" he asked thickly, through a mouthful of toast.

"Fine," she muttered, looking unenthusiastically at the piece of half-eaten toast on her plate.

"What was the letter about?" Harry asked from behind his copy of the Daily Prophet, "I didn't recognise the owl."

"Oh, it's nothing," Hermione shrugged busying herself pouring a cup of tea and not looking at him, "just something Stanwick wanted to know. I'll reply to them later."

"Mental," muttered Ron, "You'd think you'd have had enough of exams after the last seven years, but no. What do you go and do? Accept a place on a course that lasts three years, minimum. I reckon you need your head examined."

Hermione didn't respond to this, being too engrossed in her own thoughts. Draco Malfoy had wasted no time in telling his parents that she was going to stay with them during the summer. She could just imagine the self-satisfied look that would have crossed Lucius Malfoy's pointed face on learning the news – the man must have been in seventh heaven, and all because Hermione had given in to her temper, and taken Draco Malfoy's bait.

The sound of the bell signalling the start of lessons had the effect of rousing her from her thoughts. Swinging her heavy bag onto her back, she bid Ron and Harry goodbye, and made her way out of the Great Hall, up the marble staircase towards the Arithmacy classroom. Halfway up the stairs, she felt her arm being taken, and turning, she saw Malfoy grinning at her as he fell into step beside her.

"I noticed that Mother sent you a letter this morning," he said casually, pushing his way through a knot of first years. At Hermione's raised eyebrow, he explained, "I recognised her owl. What did she say?"

Hermione felt her temper rising and spat out, "If you already know, why bother asking?"

He smiled infuriatingly, and drawled, "Just curious, that is all. I imagine she was pleased that you had expressed a wish to come and stay with us. Mother took a real liking to you, you know, since she's always wanted a daughter to dote on."

Hermione was just about to deliver a scathing retort, when a voice behind them, made both of them wheel round to come face to face with Professor Dumbledore.

"This is a rare sight indeed," he smiled, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses, "a Gryffindor and a Slytherin walking to class together."

Malfoy's smile became even broader and he nodded his agreement, and Dumbledore carried on, "I couldn't help overhearing the last part of your conversation – am I right in assuming that you are spending part of your summer with the Malfoys, Miss Granger?"

"Umm," Hermione hedged, but Malfoy broke in.

"Oh yes, Professor! Hermione has agreed to spend part of her summer with us. How's that for inter-House relations?"

Dumbledore beamed down at them; and whilst Hermione was in a thoroughly irritable mood, she reluctantly returned his smile.

"That is wonderful news," he beamed, "Do you plan to stay in Britain?"

"Oh no," Malfoy replied smoothly, "we're spending the summer in our villa in the south of France."

"Splendid, splendid," Dumbledore approved, "Yes, excellent indeed. A bit of sun can work wonders!" Smiling serenely he turned and strode off in the opposite direction.

Hermione turned away, a sinking feeling in her stomach. Was it her imagination, or did Dumbledore seem a bit too pleased with the idea of her spending part of her summer with the Malfoys? Deciding to ponder this problem later, she turned her attention to the day ahead and her ever-increasing workload.


	13. Chapter 12

Authors Note: Thanks for the encouragement I received from many of you after the difficulties I had with the last chapter. As you all know I welcome constructive criticism as it enables me to improve my writing, what however I will not stand for is being told of spelling errors I have made by people whose own spelling leaves a lot to be desired – I cannot stand hypocrites of any kind. If you do want to point out mistakes to me in your reviews, please do so, but at least have the decency to ensure that your own spelling is accurate while pointing out my mistakes. Those people, to whom I refer, know who they are and if not, please visit the reviews for this story – it is all there!

As ever thanks to my beta for making this readable and please let me know what you think of this chapter. There are only a few more chapters of this story to go, but I can promise that there will be a sequel, once this is finished.

Chapter twelve

Sighing with relief, Hermione descended from the stage and made her way back to her seat amidst a thunderous applause. Sitting down, she smiled as she caught Ron's eye and he winked at her.

She looked down at the awards she had placed on her lap and had to blink rapidly to clear her vision. There, vying for space before her was a burnished gold shield which she had been given for making an excellent job of being Head Girl, another shield for her Services Rendered to the School, a silver cup peeked out from the pile for being the first student in twenty-five years to get eight NEWTs at Outstanding level, and finally, the gilt-edged leather folder which contained the certificates for which she had strived since her first day at Hogwarts. Placing the heavy shields on the floor beneath her chair, she looked up in time to see Amy Hilton, a tall, thin, Hufflepuff girl make her hesitant way onto the stage.

Glancing round the packed marquee, Hermione wondered where her parents were. She had briefly caught her mother's eye while shaking Professor Dumbledore's hand, but had not managed to see exactly where she was seated. Hermione sat back, clapping enthusiastically as Amy scurried back to her seat, clutching her folder of certificates to her and resolutely not meeting anyone's eyes.

Hermione closed her eyes and relaxed into her chair – her part in the graduation ceremony was over and she was thankful for it. She supposed that her speech had been good enough and hoped fervently no one had noticed the slight tremor in her voice as she had wished this year's Hogwarts graduates the best of luck in their chosen careers, or when she had thanked both the staff and parents of the graduating students for their unfailing support throughout the students' time at Hogwarts. She remembered at this point how many of the guests and pupils had looked down and surreptitiously wiped their eyes – she herself had not been far from tears. She remembered clearly that Lucius Malfoy had caught her eye at this point and smiled, his eyes gleaming – was that pride that she had seen there?

She applauded and cheered as Harry's name was called and he mounted the stage to be presented with his own batch of certificates. He shuffled nervously from foot to foot as his hand was shaken by all the school governors and Professor Dumbledore. As soon as this was over, he swiftly left the stage amidst the flashing of cameras. Catching Hermione's eye he grimaced and she grinned, knowing how he hated big events such as this one. She once again settled back as other students made their way up to the stage and were presented with their NEWT certificates, and in some cases, various awards. She cheered loudly as Ron was awarded best Quidditch Goal Keeper of the year, and the loud applause did not quite drown out the shouts of "Weasley is our King" coming from the Gryffindor students.

Finally, after what felt like ages, it was all over. The governors were getting to their feet and all around Hermione everyone was getting up and looking round for their parents. She too, jumped up and started making her way to the edge of the crowd, peering through it for a sight of her parents. After being unceremoniously jostled by students and parents alike, she spotted the Weasleys standing together in a corner, recognisable due to their red hair. Making her slow way over to where they stood, she was relieved to see that her mother and father were conversing with Mr and Mrs Weasley, while looking round them with undisguised curiosity. On seeing Hermione, they broke off their conversation and as one, both parents moved to embrace their daughter.

"Oh Hermione," Lyn Granger said, smiling at her daughter, while tears glistened in her eyes, "you don't know how proud we are of you. All those awards – and we never knew!" She broke off, emotion choking her voice.

Stepping forward, Peter Granger hugged his daughter tightly and said, "Well done Hermione, you have done us proud!" Hermione smiled at the compliment and then gently disentangled herself from her father's embrace.

"It's so nice to see you at Hogwarts," she said, not knowing what else to say, "Did you manage to get here ok?"

"Oh yes," beamed her father, "your Headmaster sent us a… what was it? Ah yes, a portkey which transported us here. It was a fascinating journey!"

Behind him, Lyn grimaced. Like Hermione, she preferred to keep both feet on the ground at all times, and Hermione could see that the portkey had not agreed with her.

At this point, Mrs Weasley turned and hugged Hermione, "Oh I am so proud of you," she beamed, "congratulations Hermione on your success! All those awards were truly well deserved!"

"Thanks," Hermione blushed happily, "we had better head off to the tent where the buffet is laid out."

There were general nods of assent and the group moved out of the marquee and across the lawn, where a similarly sized tent had been set up. Entering it, they saw that there were three huge tables in the centre, groaning beneath the weight of more food than Hermione had ever seen before. Pies of all descriptions were arranged on one table, surrounded by quiches, sandwiches, salads, platters of smoked salmon and haddock, vegetable spring rolls, various dips, many different kinds of cheeses, spicy samosas, a huge basket of bread of all kinds and much, much more. On another table sat trifles, jellies, blocks of ice-cream, apple pies, treacle tarts, donuts, buns, iced cakes and a number of desserts Hermione didn't recognise. On the third table, wines of every description sat alongside fizzy drinks, mineral water, butter beer, and every variety of fruit juice Hermione could imagine.

Beside Hermione, her mother gasped, staring at the food laid out before them, "My god, all this food – I have never ever seen so much of it!"

"Yeah, good isn't it?" Ron said, overhearing Lyn Granger's exclamation, "Fred and George said the best bit about Graduation was the buffet, and I totally agree! This lot'll keep us going all night." So saying, he shouldered his way to the front of the crowd, followed by everyone else.

Soon the party had all filled their plates and retreated to a corner to chat while eating. Standing between Ron and Harry, Hermione surveyed the crowd of people before saying, "You know, I still can't believe we've graduated – where has all the time gone?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, "it's gone rather quickly, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," nodded a subdued Harry, "I can clearly remember when we were worrying about our NEWTs and now look at us, about to leave Hogwarts forever!"

"Oh, I'm not sorry the NEWTs are over," Ron grinned as he bit into a slice of chicken pie, "They were positively nasty!" He shuddered at the chuckles of his friends, and then carried on, "Do you remember in the Charms NEWT when I accidentally enlarged the wart on the nose of my examiner?"

"How could we ever forget?" Harry sniggered, "the poor man's head was practically drooping! The wart was so big, it obliterated the rest of his face!"

"What I'd like to know," Hermione said, trying to keep a straight face, "is how you managed to get an E in Charms after that."

"I've absolutely no idea" Ron grinned, "Who cares though!"

"You know," Hermione mused, "in some ways I'm sorry the NEWTs passed so quickly." Ignoring Ron and Harry's horrified expressions, she went on, "I mean, it was so rewarding being finally able to prove that bloodlines make no difference to a person's magical ability, as some people would have us believe."

"That's true," Ron agreed sobering, "but I still say you were unbearable to live with during the exams, Hermione!"

"I was not," she exclaimed indignantly, "it isn't a crime to be focussed on my exams you know!" she hid her grin at the looks on the two boy's faces – both had stopped chewing and were staring at her as though they had never seen her before.

"There's being focussed about your exams, and there's being obsessed about your exams!" Ron said darkly, and resumed eating.

Glancing round, Hermione saw that the tent was crowded. Although everyone seemed to be eating; the amount of food on the tables did not seem to have diminished. Hermione's parents were in an animated conversation with the Weasleys and Professor McGonagall, and she turned her attention back to Ron and Harry.

"So what now?" she asked quietly, the laughter dying out of her eyes, "I mean we're all entering the real world and well…"

"Don't worry," Harry said giving her a reassuring smile, "we'll meet up frequently now I've got my own flat and don't have to live with the Dursleys anymore. Things will be brilliant!" he enthused, "We can have slumber parties and get completely rat-arsed!"

"You bet," Ron grinned back, "Cor, can you imagine it? We'll have no one to answer to and can do what we like, when we like and however we like!"

Hermione could not help smiling at their exuberance, "I feel sorry for your neighbours," she grinned at Harry, "they'll rue the day you move in."

"Now Hermione," he exclaimed in mock outrage, "how could you blacken my character like this? I am a decent, self-respecting, upright, law-abiding citizen..."

Ron and Hermione's laughter drowned out the rest of his words and he too, burst out laughing.

"Seriously though," Ron said, lowering his voice, glancing furtively around to check for eavesdroppers, "I mean, now we're old enough to join the Order. I don't know about you two, but I'm really looking forward to helping get rid of You Know Who and all the scum he calls Followers!" There was a note of something akin to hate in his voice, and in spite of herself, Hermione shivered.

"Calm down," she murmured, laying a hand on his arm in an effort to placate him.

He turned and surveyed her through narrowed eyes and then said in a voice so quiet she had to lean close to him to catch the words, "I hate him, Hermione, and I want him dead! It was his entire fault that Ginny has frequent nightmares even now! The effing bastard robbed her of her innocence, and I for one, can't overlook that." He stared down at his plate unseeing as he spoke.

Harry too, was looking grim, and agreed, "You're right; it is high time we joined the Order. Then maybe we can finally do something useful to help Dumbledore in this damned war!"

Hermione said nothing, but nodded in agreement.

"You know," Ron resumed, he seemed to have shaken off the hate of earlier, "I'm surprised that Dumbledore let all the muggle parents attend the Graduation ceremony, what with everything that's going on, and the likes of the Malfoys being here."

"The Malfoys wouldn't be stupid enough to do anything right under Dumbledore's nose," Hermione hissed back, a note of exasperation creeping into her voice, "anyway; there's extra security in place, in case anything goes wrong." At Ron and Harry's raised brows, she went on, "All the muggle parents were sent portkeys so they could avoid using the Hogwarts Express to get here, and they'll travel home in the same way, taking their children with them. So we can't travel home together."

Ron sighed and then nodded, "I suppose it's safer that way, but it would have been nice to travel home together, this being our final journey on the Hogwarts Express and everything." There was a silence as each looked down into their plates, their minds far away.

Soon all three were full to bursting with food, and setting down their plates and goblets, they joined the elder Weasleys and the Grangers who were still chatting.

Mrs Weasley seemed to be in her element, as she reminisced happily about the past. Catching Hermione's eye, Ginny grimaced behind her mother's back and sidled away, so as not to listen to her mother telling everyone of the time she had accidentally transfigured herself into a frog while experimenting with her mother's wand at the age of eight.

Hermione felt someone tap her on the shoulder and on turning, saw Mandy Brocklehurst standing behind her smiling.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Mandy said, "but mum and dad have asked to be introduced to your parents."

Returning Mandy's smile, Hermione nodded, and then taking her parents' arms, followed Mandy as she wended her way through the throng of people.

"Hermione, where are we going?" her mother asked, as Hermione led them away from the Weasleys.

"Mandy's parents have asked to meet you. You know; the people I was staying with over Easter?"

"Ah yes," her father nodded, "I remember you mention something about them."

The family followed Mandy to the other side of the tent, and soon Hermione's parents were being introduced to the Brocklehursts. Emily Brocklehurst was at her most charming as she chatted to Hermione's parents, while her husband stood quietly observing the interaction. Not being particularly outgoing, he simply nodded and smiled when introduced.

"I can't believe this is our last day at Hogwarts," Mandy said quietly to Hermione.

"Me neither! We must write regularly," Hermione responded clasping Mandy's arms, knowing that she would miss Mandy's friendship.

"Of course," Mandy agreed, and Hermione noticed the glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"So has everything been arranged for Cambridge?" Hermione questioned with interest. Mandy had been offered a place at Cambridge University to study History of Magic commencing the following September.

"Yeah," Mandy nodded, "I just need to owl them my NEWT results if they don't already know them, and that'll be that."

"I was wondering about that," Hermione frowned, "Is that why we're given our NEWT results before we leave school, but have to wait until mid-summer for our OWL results?"

"Well, most people's NEWT results determine their future careers, so the policy has always been to get them marked as soon as is possible, before the OWLs. After all, we need to know the NEWT results more urgently than the OWLs in order to submit them for our university admissions and job applications."

"That makes sense," Hermione nodded thoughtfully.

Their conversation was interrupted as Professor Flitwick tapped Mandy on the shoulder. With a smile and hurried apology to Hermione and her parents, he led the Brocklehursts away – clearly he wanted to talk to them in private about something.

"Well, we'd better make our way back to the others," Peter said smiling, "the Brocklehursts seemed like nice people. It's a shame we couldn't chat to them longer."

"Yes," agreed Lyn, "everyone we've met so far seems very nice."

They turned as a group with the intention of retracing their steps, when a smooth voice Hermione had no problems recognising said right behind them, "Well, well, well, if it isn't Hermione Granger, this _is_ a pleasure indeed."

For a moment, Hermione considered ignoring Lucius Malfoy, but her parents had turned at the sound of her name and reluctantly she followed suit.

"Mr Malfoy," she acknowledged stiffly, inclining her head while silently cursing the man.

"Come now, my dear, why all the formality?" he drawled smiling paternally down at her, "I presume these are your parents?" His eyes moved to Lyn and Peter standing on either side of Hermione, looking curiously back at him. At her nod he smiled, and held out his hand to her father, who returning his smile, took it. "This is certainly a pleasure," Lucius purred, "I don't know if Hermione has mentioned us to you, but I am Lucius Malfoy. Hermione and my son, Draco, are good friends."

"Peter Granger," her father responded genially, "and this is my wife Lyn." This time Lucius went one step further and raising her mother's hand to his lips, placed a kiss on the back making Lyn blush prettily. Hermione was sickened watching him.

At that precise moment, Hermione saw Narcissa Malfoy detach herself from a group of people and make a beeline for them. In seconds she had reached them and was bearing down on Hermione, smiling broadly.

"Hermione, my dear, how lovely to see you!" pulling Hermione to her, she hugged her tightly and then turned to her parents. Lucius wasted no time in making the introductions, and in no time, Narcissa was dominating the conversation.

"You must be very proud of Hermione," she gushed to the Grangers, "I mean she is so young and has accomplished so much!"

"Oh yes," Lyn said returning Narcissa's smile, "We are very proud of her."

"It is wonderful," Narcissa beamed, "I mean coming from rival houses and all that, how Hermione and Draco have become such friends! Incidentally, where is Draco? Like ourselves, our son was very keen to meet you."

She looked round and to Hermione's dismay, she spotted her son talking to Professor Snape and called him over. On seeing the group Draco's eyes, as those of his parents had done, gleamed, and it was all Hermione could do not to turn and run.

"Hermione," Draco smiled striding over to them, "I was wondering where you were. Congratulations on your awards!" He placed a proprietary arm round her waist and carried on, "So are you going to introduce me to your parents?"

Through stiff lips, Hermione made the introductions and Draco continued smoothly, "Hermione's told me so much about you. It's so wonderful to finally meet you in the flesh."

"You too," Peter said, and Hermione could see that he was frowning slightly – no doubt he had remembered Hermione's complaints about Draco Malfoy and how much she hated him. The Malfoys too seemed to have noticed this, for Narcissa quickly broke in.

"I must say, we are looking forward to getting to know you better. I don't know about you, but I find Hogwarts is very restricting. Take our Draco and Hermione for example. Thanks to the way the Houses operate, our children have been prevented from becoming friends! And them being the most intelligent students in their year, it's natural that they would have a lot in common with each other. It is unfortunate that friendship between them wasn't allowed to grow until now."

Hermione knew that Narcissa was up to something – the gleam in her eyes as she talked was an indication of this. Glancing at her parents, she was dismayed and not a little troubled to see that they were both frowning and before she could ask what the matter was, her father interjected, "Hmm, you're right Mrs. Malfoy, that doesn't seem right. Surely a student's House shouldn't have a bearing on their friendships with students from other houses – I mean that's plain ridiculous!"

"Isn't it just," Lucius agreed, smirking, "Look at these two," he indicated Hermione and Draco with a kindly smile, "Before Easter, they couldn't stay in the same room without cursing each other, but take them away from the environment which enforced all their previous prejudices, and they get on perfectly well."

"So where did the two of you meet?" Lyn enquired interestedly, "I presume it was away from Hogwarts?"

"We invited Hermione and the Brocklehursts to dinner at our Manor during the Easter holidays," Draco explained, then turning to include Hermione, he added, "we were both surprised to find how much we had in common, weren't we Hermione?"

"Err…"

"It's ok, Hermione," her mother said with a knowing smile, eyeing the handsome young man beside her daughter, "we do understand you know!"

"No, what I meant was—" Hermione began, but was cut off by her father who laughing said, "It's very similar to a situation I found myself in as a boy. Being on our school football team, it was expected of us to hate the players of our biggest rival – Chancery Grammar. Naturally, my peers and I complied with the expectations placed on us and we really did hate those boys. Anyway, it was a year or so after we'd left school that I met Ted Martin at college – it transpired that he was in the same Biology A-Level class as myself. We avoided each other like the plague, until one day we were forced to work together on a project. I don't know which of us was more unhappy about the situation, but well, to cut a long story short, during the project we got talking and found to our surprise that we had plenty in common and our friendship took off from there. Now Ted is my closest friend and Hermione and Mathew's Godfather."

Like the rest of the group, Hermione was listening avidly to her father, and now exclaimed, "I didn't know that you and Uncle Ted used to play in rival football teams! How come you never mentioned it before?"

"It was a long time ago," her father smiled, "we sometimes laugh about it over a drink. But other than that, it isn't mentioned much because it isn't important any more."

"Quite," Narcissa agreed, "Mathew – is he Hermione's brother?"

"Yes," Lyn replied, "Mathew's four years younger than Hermione. It's a shame he couldn't come here today, but there was a football match he said he couldn't miss. Honestly, boys!" She shook her head in mock exasperation.

"You never told me you had a brother," Draco frowned, looking into Hermione's face, "such a vital thing and you never even mentioned it!"

"Draco darling," Narcissa cooed, "give the poor girl a chance. No doubt there is plenty about Hermione you do not yet know. I'm sure in time she would have told you."

"True," Draco conceded smiling at Hermione who did not return his smile, "That reminds me, do you have anything planned for the summer in terms of holidays?" The question was directed at Hermione's parents who shook their heads, "then you won't mind if Hermione spends two weeks with us at our Villa in the south of France, will you?"

"No, I don't see it being a problem," Peter smiled, "We realise that Hermione is a mature, independent young lady, and even though it saddens us to admit it, part of her belongs to the wizarding world. It's natural she would want to spend time with friends from school before starting medical school in September."

"Err… right," Draco said, clearly perplexed at Peter's reference to Medical School.

Narcissa, however, had no such difficulties, and said sweetly, "Oh of course! You are starting at Stanwick in September Hermione, are you not?"

Hermione nodded with a slight smile, but said nothing.

"Nice place," Lucius commented casually, "not too far from the Manor either."

Hermione didn't want to listen to any more, and turning away, peered into the crowd – she had to get away before she did something she would later regret. Smiling cheerily, she said, "Mum, Dad, we've taken up enough of Mr and Mrs Malfoy's time, I'm sure they have other people they would like to talk to."

Not giving Narcissa a chance to cut in as she was about to do, Hermione rushed on, "Anyway we'd better head back to the Weasleys – they'll be wondering where we are."

"Good point," Peter agreed, following her gaze, "Well, it was nice meeting the three of you." He shook hands once more with a stony-faced Lucius and, with Lyn following, he began to thread his way back towards the other side of the tent.

Hermione too, began to move away, but Draco's arm tightened round her, causing her to stumble and almost fall against him. "Sorry," she gasped, trying to disentangle herself from him, "well, I'd better go too."

"Why?" Draco questioned softly in her ear, "Your parents seem perfectly able to find their way back to the Weasleys without your assistance."

From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched Lucius and Narcissa melt into the crowd leaving the two of them alone. "Let me go," she hissed, trying to wriggle free, "someone'll see us."

"No they won't," came the calm reply, and he began to move towards the tent opening, dragging her with him.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, glaring at him.

"Taking you outside. I wish to speak to you."

Hermione bit back a derisive retort and tried once more to pull away from him but to no avail. "Let me go," she threatened, "I'm warning you, I'll scream if you don't release me this instant."

"It's better for you if you come quietly," he said moving behind her and shunting her forwards, "come on now; I just want to talk to you in private."

Twisting round, she stared into his face and glowered, "I suggest for your sake you let me go right now." Her voice quivering slightly with nervous tension, she continued, "or else, I promise I will scream until kingdom come!"

"I'm trying to keep this friendly," came the deceptively quiet reply, "so cooperate. I'd really rather not have to resort to more drastic measures to get you alone, especially today of all days."

Hermione had had enough experience of Draco Malfoy's moods to know when he was on the verge of losing his temper. For a moment, she debated her best course of action, but he took the decision out of her hands by leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on her ear lobe.

"What would Potter and Weasley, and even your parents, say to finding us here kissing?" he murmured, his breath tickling her ear, making her give an involuntary gasp. "We both know what the result of such intimacy between us would be. If I'm not mistaken, I saw a photographer from the Daily Prophet lurking around earlier – maybe he'll capture us on camera!"

"You complete…" she gasped, words failing her. She could tell by the steely glint in his eyes that he was prepared to carry out his threat. She could not afford for that to happen, not on her last day at Hogwarts! Her insides squirmed at the thought of what Ron and Harry would say if they saw the two of them together.

Reluctantly, she let him lead her from the tent, hoping all the while that they had not been seen. The sun beat down from a cloudless blue sky, warming Hermione's face as she emerged from the cool interior of the tent, Malfoy right behind her, one hand braced against the small of her back, while the other clasped her shoulder.

"Come," he drawled, shepherding her past the lake where the giant squid could be seen basking in the sun's heat, and round the back of the greenhouses. There was no one in sight now, and the sound of voices could be heard distantly on the still air. Hermione was glad that they were away from prying eyes and did not demur as he lead her further from the tent and her friends. She didn't want them to be witness to the altercation she was intent on having.

Finally, once they had reached the back of the greenhouses and were out of sight of the tents and their occupants, Malfoy drew her to a stop and turning her to face him, looked down into her face, his eyes unreadable. "Tell me something," he said, his eyes boring into hers, "why must you continually fight me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" she challenged, glaring up at him, "I didn't ask to be brought here, now did I?"

"No," he responded quietly, "you didn't. But I would have thought that as we are supposedly friends, I'd at least be deserving of some of your time."

She opened her mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but remembering her conversation with Dumbledore a few weeks before, thought better of it. She had to remain on good terms with Malfoy for Dumbledore's sake, if for no one else's, and she wasn't going to do that by deliberately antagonising him. She took a deep breath trying hard to rid herself of the anger she was feeling towards him and shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"Yes, you would," she conceded trying not to sound too grudging, "but is there any need to drag me out here like this?"

"How else do you suggest I talk to you with the Weasleys and your parents constantly surrounding you?"

She had no reply to this, so she stayed silent.

"I'm getting sick of playing second fiddle to everyone else in your life," he said now, taking a step forward and tightening his grip on her shoulders, "there's only so much anyone can be expected to give before snapping, and Hermione, my patience is wearing very thin. I don't like being unkind to you for I think highly of you, but if that is what it takes to make you take notice of me as a person, then so be it!"

She cursed inwardly and knew that she would have to tread very carefully. He was in one of his moods, and the only way she was going to get through to him was by placating him. If things went wrong now with her relationship with Malfoy, Dumbledore and the Order would blame her for it and she was honest enough to admit that they would be perfectly within their right to do so. Also a niggling feeling she would rather not name was causing pangs of conscience to make themselves felt, and she knew instinctively that she didn't want him to think badly of her. Oh but how she wished he would be reasonable about all this!

"You know as well as I do," she started, trying hard to keep the note of exasperation out of her voice, "that this term hasn't exactly been conducive to us spending time together, so please stop whining about something which was out of my control!"

"I'm not whining," he shot back, a slight tinge of colour creeping into his pale cheeks, "Malfoys don't whine! I simply want to know why you've been unable to put aside any time to spend with me, when those two oafs you call 'friends' need only to call your name and you are at their beck and call!"

Hermione now felt the colour sweep into her cheeks and glowering, snapped back, "Firstly, Ron and Harry aren't oafs, and secondly, I'm at the beck and call of no one and don't you forget that!" She had stepped away from him and stood glaring at him, her hands on her hips.

"No?" he sneered back, "Then pray tell me why is it that you are always helping them with work and stuff, when it's obvious to anyone with half a brain cell that intelligence is a by-word where they're concerned."

"You," she spluttered, "how dare you? What do you know about it anyway?" As she watched his set face, she was disconcerted to see a slow smile spread across his face, and then to her bewilderment, he burst out laughing, all traces of anger vanishing from him.

Shaking her head, she asked, "Are you… are you feeling well Malfoy?"

"You know," he choked out, after his initial burst of laughter died down, releasing all the tension between them, "we sounded so much like an old married couple, it was scary. I was vividly reminded of my parents when we were quarrelling – the similarities were comical."

Hermione could feel an answering smile tugging at the corners of her mouth at his words, but tried hard to keep a straight face. She bit hard on her bottom lip so as to stop herself laughing as well, for Malfoy was right – they were quarrelling as she had seen her own parents do sometimes; and like Lyn Granger, Hermione was determined to have the last word! As she watched Malfoy's expression, she saw the laughter fade from his eyes, to be replaced with an expression she didn't want to name. His eyes flicked down to her mouth and fastened on her lower lip clamped between her small white teeth.

"Merlin!" he gasped raggedly and swiftly stepping forward, he gently tugged Hermione's lower lip from between her teeth with his thumb.

Malfoy's caress shot through Hermione, causing her eyes to instinctively stare at his, which were dark with an emotion she did not dare to put a name to. Gulping, she tried stepping back, but her feet remained frozen.

"No," he groaned, "not this time," and moving with a swiftness that made her catch her breath, he caught her to him and tilting her face upwards, bent and claimed her mouth with his own. Hermione's eyes flew open in surprise and she tried to pull back, but he held her too tightly. "Please," he muttered against her closed lips, "Hermione please!"

She let out an involuntary gasp as he teased her lips with his tongue, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss by sliding his tongue into her open mouth. She felt herself weakening – his onslaught on her senses was robbing her of the power to think, let alone do anything else. She found that she could only respond to him by returning his kisses. She knew that even if she wanted to, she couldn't have stopped her body's response to him. Her arms went round him, and her fingers tangled in his silky hair as she pressed herself to his hard, muscular body, gasping as he grazed his teeth lightly over her lower lip

Finally, breathing hard, he pulled his mouth from hers, and began to trail kisses along her jaw and down her throat. "Oh. Merlin," he moaned, as Hermione arched her body away from him so he could get better access to the skin at her throat; "You. Are. So. Sweet. Intoxicating. Irresistible," he punctuated his words with soft, open-mouthed kisses on her throat and neck, and it was all Hermione could do to stay upright.

It was the sound of laughter drifting across the still grounds that made him lift his head and stare at her. Hermione too, jumped, and her eyes, which had been glazed, now came back into focus. Slowly, Malfoy's expression hardened as he looked down at her.

"Don't expect me to apologise," he said in a tight voice, "because I'm not sorry for what happened!"

"I wasn't expecting anything from you," Hermione responded coolly, as disappointment at the abrupt harshness of his manner flooded through her, "why should I?"

"Good," came his sharp retort, "because we both know that you wanted that as much as I did," he hesitated, and then continued, "so do us all a favour and don't pretend you don't. I really won't empathise if you were to start getting all hysterical on me today."

Hermione felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and blinked them back determinedly. Why was he behaving like this? She had done nothing to cause this abrupt change in him, so why was he so cold towards her?

Straightening her shoulders, she thrust her chin up and said in a deliberately flat voice, "Don't worry, Malfoy, you needn't fear. I've no intention of telling anyone of this. If that's all, I'll take my leave!"

Turning quickly, she walked briskly to put some distance between them. Skirting some trees, she pulled herself to a stop and peered out from behind them. He stood exactly where she had left him, his hands thrust into his pockets and his head bent; he looked the picture of rejection and disappointment. Even as this thought entered her mind, she squashed it; after all, it had been _him_ who had done the rejecting and not her. Giving herself a mental shake, she straightened her robes, and smoothed back her hair. Resolutely turning her back on him, she went to find her parents.

XoXoXoXo

"Oh, c'mon," Mathew wheedled, "just one spell, I mean what's the point of being a witch when you won't even perform any magic?" he gave Hermione his best puppy dog look, but his sister resolutely shook her head.

"I've told you," she said, "I won't pander to your whims – grow up, for heaven's sake!"

"You're boring," he muttered, getting up from the grass where he had been lying. Like Hermione, he possessed an intelligent face topped with a mop of curly brown hair. His eyes were light brown and his normally affable expression was absent as he glowered down at her. "What's it with older people? The moment they reach eighteen, they think they own the world! Well, let me tell you sis, you're no better than me – you got that? Just because you went to some school where they teach magic, it doesn't give you the right to boss me about!"

Stifling a grin, Hermione rolled over on to her back and looked up at him. "When you talk like that, you remind me of a particular spoiled prat," she yawned and continued, "Why don't you go and play football or something?"

"There you go, patronising me again!" he almost yelled, "You wait 'til mum gets home; I'll tell her how you treated me."

"For someone who's almost fifteen, you're behaving like a five-year-old," she snapped, "Act your age, will you?"

"I _am_ acting my age!" came the mutinous reply, "It's you who's acting all stuck up!" Employing a cajoling tone, he tried again, "Erm, that is… er, please, can you do some magic? Please?"

"I said no," Hermione responded, losing patience, but Mathew wasn't listening. His gaze was riveted on the cloudless blue sky above them, and she too, looked up.

"Wow," Mathew breathed, as an owl Hermione didn't recognise flew towards them, "d'you think it'll let me stroke it?"

"I don't see why not," she said, scrambling to her feet and brushing the grass stains from her shorts and t-shirt, "hold out your arm so it can land on it."

He stuck out a sunburnt arm, and tried not to jig round with excitement as the owl flew down to them. It seemed to hesitate, but it finally landed on his arm. The owl then held a leg out to Hermione, on which a letter was tied.

"Cool," Mathew breathed, stroking the owl with one finger, "D'you reckon mum'll let us have one? I mean that mangy old cat of yours is a bit passed it, wouldn't you say?"

"No, I wouldn't," Hermione huffed, while detaching the letter from the owl's leg, "Crookshanks is one of the most intelligent creatures I've come across."

"Then you can't've come across that many intelligent creatures then, can you?" he countered, "Didn't they have anyone brainy at that school of yours? Blimey, they must've all been thick as two planks, if you think that old Crookshanks was more intelligent than them!"

Hermione resisting the urge to cast a silencing charm on her brother, turned away. She wanted to read this letter, but knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate with him talking to her. "Look, let's make a deal," she said, knowing that he would never leave her be unless there was something in it for him, "you go off and bug someone else for a while, and this evening when Mum and Dad get home from work, I'll do some magic!"

He stood thinking this over for a moment, and then nodding, said, "You better stick to your word then! Well, get going – what're you waiting for?" This last was directed at the owl sitting patiently on his arm watching them both.

"Mathew!" Hermione exclaimed, "Have you no manners?"

"What? It's a bloody bird! It's more likely to understand the meaning of a good kick up the backside than a please or thank you!"

Hermione was just about to open her mouth to remonstrate the rude boy, but the owl, clearly having had enough of her sullen brother, pecked him hard on the ear before taking off in a flurry of wings.

"That little…" he spluttered, as Hermione burst out laughing.

"Maybe that'll encourage you to remember your manners," she sniggered, as he rubbed his ear.

"Bloody thing, it deserves to be shot – I could've been mortally wounded!"

"I wish!" Hermione said, reseating herself on the blanket on which they had been sun bathing, "now go and pester someone else, or no magic this evening!"

"Girls!" came the disgusted reply, "stuck up old cows, the lot of them!" At Hermione's warning look, he said, "All right, all right, I'm going over to Tom's for a game of footy! At least there aren't any boring old farts there to make a man's life miserable." He went off, throwing her a dirty look as he made his way down the back garden, and out of the gate into the lane beyond.

As the gate clanged shut, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief – sometimes she wondered how her parents ever put up with him. Swiftly, she untied the roll of parchment the owl had delivered and read the short note:

"Hermione,

I want to talk to you. I will come round at 3:30 this afternoon.

I hope this is a convenient time, otherwise, let me know to reschedule.

Quentin."

Glancing at her watch, Hermione realised that she had only fifteen minutes before Quentin arrived. Scrambling to her feet, she hastily gathered up the remains of the picnic lunch she and Mathew had been enjoying, and took it all into the kitchen. With a few deft flicks of her wand, the crockery and cutlery were clean and back in their rightful places in the gleaming mahogany cupboards, and the uneaten food was sitting on the bottom shelf of the fridge neatly wrapped in cling film.

Going into the living room, she hastily dragged a brush through her hair and tied it back. Plumping up the cushions on the sofa, she sat down to wait. She wondered what it was Quentin wanted to discuss, and a dart of excitement ran through her – maybe he was going to tell her that she could join the Order soon!

A pop behind her made Hermione whirl around and there he was, smiling sardonically as he surveyed his surroundings.

"Nice place," he commented, "are your parents at work?"

"Yes," Hermione replied, "and my brother is over at his friend's house a few doors down, so we won't be interrupted."

"Good," came the terse reply, and pulling out his wand, Quentin proceeded to wave it in a circle which encompassed them both. At Hermione's questioning look, he explained, "Dome of Silence – no one can eavesdrop on our conversation this way."

"Oh right," she nodded, watching him as he sat down opposite her.

"Right, he began, stretching out his long legs, "I've a few messages to pass on to you from Dumbledore and not much time to spare." At her nod, he went on, "Now, you're probably wondering about the Order and when you'll be able to join."

"Yes, I did wonder," she admitted with a smile, and leaned forward eagerly.

"Well, the thing is, Hermione, you aren't going to join the Order; at least not for the time being, that is."

"What?" Hermione gasped, pulling herself to the edge of her seat, "Not join the Order? Why?"

"Calm down!" Quentin assured the girl, "I told Dumbledore you wouldn't be happy but he insisted. And he has valid reasons, Hermione."

"Oh, he does, does he?" she challenged, her annoyance taking hold of her.

"Yes, he does, and if you'll give me a chance, I'll explain them to you." With that, Hermione subsided, and Quentin went on, "Dumbledore wants you to befriend the Malfoy heir. However, he is worried that Lucius Malfoy may take it into his head to slip you some Veritaserum when you aren't looking, so as to get information out of you. The best of us have difficulty fighting that stuff and you are very young, so Dumbledore thinks it safer all round if you knew as little about the Order as possible."

Hermione's fingers tightened on her wand and she felt her eyes fill with tears. A mixture of feelings flooded her: resentment and hurt at Dumbledore for doing this, unreasonable hate towards the Malfoys for preventing her induction into the Order, and reproach towards herself for not seeing this coming. She glared at Quentin who sat passively watching her.

"Hermione, it isn't the end of the world you know," he said gently, making her want to scream.

"You don't understand," she choked out, "I've been looking forward to joining and doing something useful for the Order since the rise of Voldemort, and just as I thought I could be of some use, the chance is snatched away from me – how do you expect me to feel about that?"

There was a pause in which he regarded her thoughtfully, then getting up, he crossed to sit beside her on the sofa. Turning Hermione's face towards him, he gave her shoulders a shake. "Think about it," he said, "what you're doing is much more valuable to the cause than anything your friends will be doing – believe me! Infiltrating the home of a well-known Death Eater is no easy task; it's certainly beyond the capabilities of most people and a great risk, but you can do it, and by doing so, can provide us with information the value of which I doubt even you realise."

"Really?" she asked sarcastically, "And do you think that the said Death Eater is going to be foolish enough to leave anything vaguely incriminating lying around for me to pick up? Lucius Malfoy may be many things, but he is certainly not stupid! He'll guess that I'm working for Dumbledore and feeding him information."

He gazed thoughtfully at her pale face for a moment, and then as though coming to a decision, said, "Have you never wondered how Voldemort knew who the members of the Order of the Phoenix were during the last war?"

"He probably found out through spies – people like Wormtail," she dismissed.

"No, he knew because members of the Order are branded by Dumbledore's Phoenix."

"Branded? You mean…" Hermione gasped, her eyes widening with shock.

He laughed, and then elaborated, "No sorry, wrong word. I should say 'marked'. The phoenix marks the person and the magical field surrounding the Order members changes slightly, not enough so that it is easily noticeable, but the field can be picked up by powerful wizards such as Voldemort. Basically, what happens is that when a person is initiated into the Order, the phoenix's magic interweaves with that of the person, changing it slightly."

"I see," Hermione replied, sitting back and digesting this.

"So you see, in some ways you are in more danger if you are a member of the Order while in Malfoy's home than if you are not." He gave her a worried glance but she ignored it.

"Yes, I see that," she murmured thoughtfully. "Damn the Malfoys! It's their fault that I can't join the Order!" Her mind went back to the last time that she and Draco Malfoy had spoken, and she felt the heat creeping up her face. Since their graduation over five days ago, she had had no word from him – not that she had been counting the days since, of course!

"Be that as it may," Quentin responded blandly, "You still have to be nice to them, and that means talking to the heir!"

It took all of Hermione's resolve not to break eye contact with him, and she hoped that her face wasn't as red as she suspected it was. "It was his fault," she muttered, "I don't see why I should be nice to him after…"

Choosing not to comment on this, Quentin continued, "I want to hear that you've been in correspondence with him by this time next week ok?" He wagged a finger at her and she scowled, before finally nodding grudgingly. He took a quick look at his watch and resumed, "Good, now I would like to continue our training the day after tomorrow. We'll use Hogwarts – it's the safest place." He rummaged in a pocket and brought out a hand mirror and handed it to her. "Portkey. Keep it in your handbag and when you're ready to use it, just tap it with your wand and it will activate and take you straight to the room where we normally practice."

Hermione nodded, and turned the ordinary-looking mirror over in her hands with interest.

"Good, I'll be seeing you then. And Hermione, swallow your pride and write to the Malfoy boy, for the sake of the Order, if not your own." With a casual flick of his wand, he undid the Dome of Silence, and Disapparated, leaving her alone.

Hermione sat back and putting the mirror into her pocket, glared at the empty room. How dare Quentin order her around like that? What did he know of her last encounter with the Malfoys anyway? Sometimes, Quentin was just insufferable and she didn't know why she put up with him. She blushed afresh at the raised brow he had treated her to, when she had tried to defend the lack of contact between her and Malfoy. If she didn't know any better, she would have said that he knew exactly what had transpired behind the greenhouses!

Pushing this uncomfortable thought away, she made her way upstairs and into her room. She supposed she had better get it over with and write to Malfoy – not that the prat deserved it. She wasn't sure how she felt about not being allowed to join the Order; Quentin's explanation, as much as it galled her to admit it, made sense and she scowled afresh. She wondered why her own part in all this was so vital, but knew that it made sense for security reasons for her not to be told. She shivered; wars were terrible things at the best of times – cruel and pointless, but when you were in the middle of one, it was a completely different board game. Black looked like white and white like black, and that was not taking into account all the greys in between.

Sitting down at her desk, she pulled a piece of parchment towards her – it was time to put her promise to Quentin into action and write to Malfoy. Making herself comfortable, she prepared for one of the most difficult tasks she had ever undertaken – that of trying to mend a breach the cause of which she was not even aware.


	14. Chapter 13

Authors Note: Apologies for the long delay in posting this but I hope the long wait has been worth it. Thanks to my beta and those of you who have left such encouraging reviews. Some of you pointed out there is nothing to indicate section breaks within chapters, this is due to which due to some reason beyond me, has stripped all the section breaks out. I am therefore trying a different way of indicating section breaks in the hope it will work. Enjoy and let me know what you all think.

Chapter 13

"Hmmm," Ginny mused, sitting back and eyeing Hermione thoughtfully over the rim of her glass, "The Lock and Key? Well, Dad took Mum there when he decided to propose to her. It's a very classy place, if you know what I mean."

"What, is it expensive?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Yeah, very," Ginny emphasised, "only the rich can afford to go there, and reservations for dinner can take months."

"Something like the Savoy, I suppose." At Ginny's enquiring look, Hermione went on, "The Savoy's one of the best restaurants in Muggle London and known throughout the world." Shaking her head, she continued, "Trust him to pick somewhere like the Lock and Key. Heaven only knows what I'm going to do there."

"Oh I don't know," Ginny commented airily, "I wouldn't mind going to the Lock and Key with Draco Malfoy, I mean, come on you could have done a lot worse. Be thankful his parents won't be with him."

"True," Hermione agreed and took a sip of her own drink. They were seated in the garden of the Burrow and overhead the sun blazed down from a cloudless blue sky. Birdsong surrounded them, while bees and butterflies moved busily between the bushes engrossed in their work.

"You never told me," Ginny went on, "why you weren't speaking to him. What happened?"

"Nothing much," Hermione evaded, not looking Ginny in the eye, "you know him… blows hot and cold like nobody's business. We had a bit of an argument on Graduation Day and he's been sulking ever since."

"Oh yeah? Would this argument have involved a bit of snogging by any chance?" Ginny grinned mischievously. "I couldn't help noticing that you looked very flustered just as you were about to leave with your parents on graduation day."

Hermione shrugged, still not looking at Ginny, "Something like that. The galling part is that he was the one who initiated it all and then went off in a sulk! I mean, where's the logic in that?"

Ginny gave a pitying sigh and said, "Hermione, you're one of the cleverest people I know when it comes to other people and their emotions. But when it comes to yourself, you're absolutely hopeless! Isn't it obvious at all why he went off like that?"

Hermione shook her head.

"He was scared you'd reject him!" Ginny announced triumphantly.

At this Hermione let out a scornful laugh, causing some butterflies perched on the flowers behind her to flutter away. "Him? Scared of Rejection? Ginny, we're talking about _Draco Malfoy_, are we not? I bet he doesn't even _know_ the meaning of the word. The only reason he's being nice to me is to get into my good graces. And the reason for that is simply for my blood – nothing else."

Ginny returned Hermione's level look with one of her own and then said quietly, "I'd agree that blood is all that his parents are interested in, but not Malfoy himself. No, it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that he's got feelings for you. He has for a while now, in fact, long before all this stuff with his parents started."

"He has a funny way of showing it, if that's the case," Hermione retorted. "Anyway, he wrote to me a few days ago as though nothing had transpired and suggested we have dinner at the Lock and Key."

"Lucky you," Ginny sighed, "I wouldn't object if a nice rich eligible young man were to ask me to the Lock and Key for dinner!"

Hermione gave another sigh in response and asked again, "So what am I going to wear? I don't suppose they'd accept anything less than silk dress robes!"

"Probably not," Ginny stretched and placed her now empty glass down beside her chair. "I say keep it simple – not too decorative. Mum should be home soon. I'll pick her brains about it." Then her voice took on a serious note, "But Hermione, why won't you give him a chance? I mean, he's gone out of his way to be friendly this last year. And frankly, I can't remember the last time he insulted you because of your parentage. The poor boy can't help having Lucius for a farther and Narcissa for a mother – you really can't hold that against him."

"I don't," Hermione denied, exasperation evident in her voice, "how many times do I have to tell people that? I've put up with Malfoy's insults since my first year at Hogwarts! I just don't trust the Malfoys – not after our fifth year and certainly not Lucius' antics during _your_ first year. I can't be expected to forget all that and fall into Draco's waiting arms just because he's being nice to me!"

"No, I suppose you can't," Ginny agreed, "but at the same time, you're in a very dodgy position. Besides Draco's feelings in this matter, the Malfoys will go to any lengths to get what they want and like it or not, they want you. I think it'd be safer for you to play along at least for the time being anyway. Plus, there's the thing with the Order," here she lowered her voice slightly as though afraid of being overheard, "you know what Dumbledore's asked you to do."

"Don't I just," Hermione responded gloomily, "it's the only reason I'm tolerating the Malfoys. Honestly, they're awful! I bet even a saint would tire of them after spending just a short time with them. You know, after that discussion with Quentin last week, I wasted so much time in trying to formulate a polite letter to Malfoy suggesting we meet for a drink somewhere, and just as I finished writing, his damned owl flew through the window with his letter asking me to dinner!"

Ginny couldn't hold back a grin at the indignant scowl on Hermione's face, but just as swiftly, the amusement drained from her face. "I hate to say it but you also have to think about your parents' safety as well as your own. They're muggles with no way of defending themselves if Lucius, or Merlin forbid, Voldemort were to come calling."

Even though the sun beat down on her, Hermione felt a shiver run up her spine. "I…I fear for them constantly," she muttered, "but the Malfoys wouldn't…"

"Oh yes, they would," replied a grim-faced Ginny, "face it Hermione, Lucius'd have no qualms in getting rid of them if it helped him get what he wanted. Besides, you'd never forgive yourself if something were to happen to them."

"No, you're right about that," Hermione said in a small voice, trying hard not to shiver again.

"Go along with the Malfoys… at least for the time being. All you need do is to smile sweetly at them," Ginny cajoled, leaning forward in her chair. "Please Hermione, things are bad enough as it is. You don't need to put yourself and your family in any more danger than you're already in."

"Maybe, you're right," Hermione said non-committaly. "Anyway, I'd better get going if I don't want to bump into Ron."

"True," Ginny got up. "He and mum should be returning from Bill's soon."

"Oh speaking of Bill, how's he getting on? I haven't seen him for ages."

"He and Fleur are fine; she's still a bit stand-offish, but once you get past that, I suppose she's nice enough." Ginny stretched languidly as she spoke.

"Yeah well, I doubt she'll ever change," Hermione smiled, "I suppose it's the Veela blood in her."

Ginny laughed at this, "You're probably right. You know what Veelas are like – perfectly wonderful to men, but they don't have much time for their own sex. It's still funny to see Ron ogling her when he thinks no one's looking – will he ever grow up?"

"I doubt it," Hermione snorted, "it's amazing how childish both he and Harry are at heart. You'd think that after all we've been through in the last seven years, they would've grown up a bit, but no, they're as childish as ever."

"You know it'll feel weird going back to Hogwarts without you three there," Ginny remarked, a slight note of wistfulness in her voice, "I mean you three are part of the place."

"But look on the bright side," Hermione encouraged, grinning, "no Ron to breathe down your neck every time you go on a date with someone. Surely that'll be a plus?"

"True," Ginny replied, grinning as well, "the number of times I've wanted to hex him because of scenes he made due to me going out with someone. Did I tell you about the time he caught Terry Boot and me kissing? We were in a secluded part of the library and Ron came round the corner. On seeing us, he let out a bellow as though he had been stung in the backside by a wasp and lunged between us. You can just imagine my reaction – the git! Honestly it was one of the best snogs I have ever had! Trust him to ruin it!"

Hermione burst out laughing at the mental picture Ginny painted. She could just imagine Ron charging head down between Ginny and her unfortunate partner in an effort to split them up. "Subtlety's never been something Ron was good at," she said, still chuckling.

"Tell me about it," Ginny muttered darkly, "If I'd a Knut for every time he's made a prat of himself over the fact that I was going on a date with someone, I'd be a rich woman by now."

"Yeah, that's true," Hermione grinned, and then asked, "So who's the latest candidate for your affections? Honestly, you change boyfriends as often as the rest of us change clothes."

Ginny simply shrugged at this, "Well, there isn't anyone at present. The problem is that they all bore me – I mean there's only so much you can talk about Quidditch, and that's the only thing that the boys at Hogwarts can discuss with any degree of fluency."

"Maybe you should go for someone older – you know, with a bit more life experience behind him?"

"Yeah, a bit of money wouldn't go amiss either. Oh well, I can dream. Maybe when you're married to Malfoy, you can introduce me to someone nice and rich!"

At the mention of Malfoy, Hermione shivered once more. Glancing at her watch, she said regretfully, "Well thanks for the chat and advice," she grimaced, as she got up, "I'll let you know how things go."

"Think about what I said. It's for the best honestly," Ginny entreated as Hermione prepared to depart.

Hermione waved, then closing her eyes Disapparated to appear a moment later behind the hedge bordering the Grangers' back garden. She had, with Quentin's help, put up anti-apparation wards all over the house and the surrounding area a few days ago, and this was the only spot in which apparition could take place. Straightening her shoulders, she marched up the back garden and into the house. She was met with silence, her parents were at work, and Mathew was staying at a friend's for a few days. Making her way upstairs into her room, she flopped down onto the bed and closed her eyes.

Talking to Ginny always helped Hermione sort out her thoughts and ideas, for Ginny was the only person other than those in the Order who knew of the Malfoys' interest in her. She sighed, wishing not for the first time that she had never met Draco Malfoy. She was well aware that she was playing a dangerous game with the Malfoys, one that was taking up all the courage for which she was so renowned. She also admitted to herself that Ginny had been right about her parents. Hermione had seen enough of Lucius Malfoy to know that he was quite capable of getting rid of them, if it meant getting what he wanted. It was therefore even more important to try and keep Lucius and Narcissa happy – she couldn't risk the consequences, and what was worse, they knew this, even though they had as yet refrained from reminding her.

Then, on the other hand, there was the promise she had made to Dumbledore – the Order too, was relying on her to get much needed information for them. She admitted to herself that she felt like a pawn in a chess game – someone whose only purpose was to be of use to others, to do their bidding, no matter the cost to herself. As soon as this thought had taken root in her mind, she sat up with a gasp; Dumbledore would never use her like that – never. That, she told herself was the difference between him and Voldemort, the work she was doing for Dumbledore was valuable and much needed. How could she ever think that Dumbledore was just making use of her to suit his own purposes? If anyone was making use of her, it was the Malfoys; she was well aware of their plans for her.

She decided that she must be going soft. Shaking off her dismal musings, she jumped up, pulled open her wardrobe, and looked through the racks of clothes to decide what she would wear for dinner with Draco Malfoy the next evening.

ZoZoZoZo

"It's a bit like those microchips Muggles use – small, but highly effective!" Professor Dumbledore said, smiling at Hermione from across his desk.

From beside her, Quentin raised a cynical brow, "Really Albus, you're starting to sound like Arthur Weasley on one of his good days. It's only a microchip, for Merlin's sake, nothing to get excited about!"

Hermione, stifling a smile, took the proffered chip and examined it. It was no bigger than a grain of rice and silver in colour. "So just to clarify," she said, her eyes fixed on the tiny device nestled in the palm of her hand, "this device, when embedded into my skin, will enable me to speak to you; is that right?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, "ingenious really. We'll be able to communicate in the form of conscious thoughts – a safety precaution, you understand. It will be as though the conversation is taking place inside your head. You'll be able to hear my voice, but only in your head. Similarly you will respond by thought, rather than with verbal words. Now if Quentin will do the honours and embed the chip, I will show you how it's done. "

"How does it work?" Hermione asked interestedly, turning the minute chip over in her hand.

Dumbledore and Quentin exchanged looks, and then as though coming to a decision, Quentin said, "Well, it uses energy compressed into waves – something like radio waves. It omits your thoughts using a preset frequency. Albus' thoughts are transmitted to you in the same way. Of course there is more to it than that, but that should be sufficient to placate even your curiosity."

Hermione, knowing that he would tell her no more about the workings of the tiny device in her hand, simply nodded. In spite of both Dumbledore and Quentin's assurances, she gulped; to her, this idea of embedding the chip beneath her skin sounded highly dangerous, not to mention painful.

As though reading her thoughts, Quentin continued, "Don't worry, as I said before, you won't feel any pain at all. Shall we get on with it? "

"I believe so," Dumbledore sat up.

Hermione simply nodded. She just hoped that this idea would work, although in truth, she had her doubts. As far as she was aware, magic and Muggle technology did not mix well and this microchip was no exception.

Quentin held out his hand for the chip and Hermione placed it on his palm. "We thought the best place for the chip would be just below your left elbow, on the inside of the arm. It won't be remarked on if you touch that particular spot while in the company of those you don't trust. Hold out your arm."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione held out her left arm and turning her head away, gazed fixedly at the portrait of Armando Dipit snoozing in his frame. She didn't want to watch her own arm being sliced open; she didn't mind watching medical procedures carried out on others, but she didn't think she could stand the sight of the chip going into her arm.

"All done," came Quentin's voice, "you can look now."

"But I didn't feel anything," Hermione spluttered in shock, gazing down at her arm. She noticed that a centimetre or so beneath the elbow joint on the inside of her arm, the smooth skin was slightly puckered, suggesting that she had at some time been injured.

"That scar is simply to tell you where the chip is located," Dumbledore informed her, "only you can activate it. In order for you to do so, you must press the pad of your right index finger to the scar. If I want to talk to you, you will feel the scar tingle slightly. The conversation can only begin once you touch it. Let's have a trial run, shall we?" At her nod, he went on, "Now go and stand facing the window with your back to me."

Getting up, Hermione did as asked and crossed to the window on the far side of the office. She stared out onto the sun-drenched grounds beneath her. "Now touch the scar as I instructed you," Dumbledore said from behind her.

She placed the index finger of her right hand onto the tiny scar and waited. For a moment, nothing happened and then she heard Dumbledore's voice clearly in her head, "Excellent, how does it feel?"

She wondered for a moment how she was going to respond, and then as though she were talking to him without moving her lips, she formulated the words, "Odd, very odd," and waited in the hope she had done it right.

Sure enough, Dumbledore's voice came back at her saying, "Brilliant, very good Hermione."

"Well?" Quentin demanded, shattering the peace of the quiet room. "Did it work?"

As though coming out of a trance, Hermione turned to him, her eyes glowing. "Oh yes," she smiled, "I could hear Professor Dumbledore's voice clearly in my head, and we managed to communicate."

"All the time that was spent perfecting this little gadget has paid off," a beaming Dumbledore confirmed, "A very effective way of communicating indeed, and what's more, one which cannot be interfered with by magic."

Unable to curb her curiosity, Hermione asked once more, "This device, it won't effect my body in any way, will it?"

"Oh no," Quentin assured her, "the device is safe and won't be attacked by your immune system, we made sure of that. The charm I used to transfer the chip to your arm caused a layer of skin cells to form round the chip, encapsulating it against your body's defences."

"Hermione, this device is for your safety, as well as the means by which you can communicate any information to us," Dumbledore said seriously. "If ever you feel you cannot handle any situation, just let me know. I too have a chip similar to yours embedded in my arm, so you can call on me any time you need to do so."

"Thank you," Hermione said, looking once more down at the small scar on the inside of her left arm.

"Do you have any more questions?" he asked, and she shook her head. "Well then, in that case, I had better let you go. Thank you for coming up – I am well aware you have just finished your lesson with Quentin, and that you're probably in need of some rest."

Getting up, Hermione took her leave of the two men and made her way out of the office and down the moving staircase. The corridor outside seemed unnaturally quiet as she walked along. There was no one in sight as she went down the marble staircase and into the grounds, her mind on the tiny device tucked away in her left arm.

As she reached the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, she marvelled anew at the ingenuity that must have gone into creating this tiny chip, which in its own way was the embodiment of the integration of Muggle and magical ideas. She had to admit to herself that it made her feel safer – a tangible link between herself and Professor Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age. At least if something went wrong, she would have a way of letting him know. With this comforting thought, she closed her eyes and Disapparated.

XoXoXoXo

"Will I do?" Hermione asked her mother as she pirouetted before her in the sitting room.

"Very nice," commented Peter Granger from behind his evening paper, "you look quite the elegant lady."

"Yes indeed," Lyn agreed, "that outfit really becomes you. I must admit, I had my doubts in the shop, but that designer certainly knew what she was doing"

Hermione nervously fingered the silk of her silvery grey robes, and with a slightly anxious laugh, said, "Oh well, it's too late anyway if the colour or style doesn't suit me."

"Now, now," Lyn admonished, "where has all that poise you displayed at your graduation gone? As you said yourself, this isn't a date, so why all the anxiety?" Lyn teased her, "Stop worrying, you look very nice." Smiling to take the sting out of her voice, she went on, "If you don't want to be late, you'd better be on your way."

"You're right," Hermione said with a smile to assure her parents. "Well, I'll see you both tomorrow morning, I guess. Don't wait up for me – god knows when I'll get back. If the restaurant is anything like the kind the Association of Dentists used to host their Christmas dinners, then I'll be there for hours," she finished, rolling her eyes.

"Fair enough," Peter smiled, folding up his paper and laying it aside, "Have you got your wand?"

"Yeah, it's in my pocket." She patted the pocket of her robes to make sure, and turning, left the room with her parents following.

"Have a nice evening," Lyn said, as Hermione opened the front door.

"Thanks," Hermione nodded, smiling at them, "Bye!" She walked quickly down the front path, conscious of her parent's eyes on her and waved one last time in what she hoped was a reassuring way, as she went through the front gate and made her way down the empty road.

As she walked, Hermione breathed in the warm evening air and relaxed slightly. The wards she had put up around the house extended for a half mile round it, and she was glad that she had opted to walk the distance to the park rather than Disapparate from behind the hedge. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she still had plenty of time before she was due to meet Malfoy outside the Lock and Key, which was situated in Diagon Alley. She grimaced, thinking she would need the time to compose herself for the evening ahead. Reaching the park, she slipped behind a hedge and Disapparated.

Opening her eyes, Hermione saw that she was standing before the white marble front of Gringotts'. Looking round, she saw that there were still quite a few people making their way down Diagon Alley, most of them intent on making last minute purchases before the shops shut for the night.

Hermione began to walk down the long cobbled street, looking into the shop windows as she walked. Most were lit up, the light illuminating the goods on display. She knew vaguely where the Lock and Key was, having passed it several times before, but never having given it more than a cursory glance. Making her way to the small restaurant now, she gazed at the white painted exterior and frowned. From here, the restaurant looked like any other; small and nothing out of the ordinary. But seven years at Hogwarts had taught Hermione not to judge by appearances, so pushing open one of the glass doors, she stepped through and looked round.

Her eyes scanned the small hall before her, paved in white marble with paintings depicting various animals adorning the walls. The sound of someone clearing their throat made Hermione jump and turning, she saw a man watching her. He was dressed in Muggle clothes – a suit and tie, and regarding her through narrowed eyes.

"How may I help you miss?" he asked bowing slightly from the waist.

"Um," she hesitated, "I'm here…."

"Hermione!" Draco Malfoy's voice broke in, making both of them look round to where he stood, framed in the light from a doorway to Hermione's right, his blond hair gleaming in the soft light. As he spoke, he strode forward and bending down kissed Hermione's cheek. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to come."

"Oh, I'm not late, am I?" she asked in dismay, while trying to take a quick peek at her watch.

"Not at all, I was early."

"Is this the young lady for whom you have been waiting, Mr Malfoy?" asked the maître d'.

"Yes," came the terse response.

"In that case, may I relieve the young lady of her cloak?"

"Thank you," Hermione smiled, raising a hand to undo the clasp of the chiffon silk-lined cloak from her shoulders, but Malfoy beat her to it.

Deftly he undid the clasp, and sliding the cloak from Hermione's shoulders, handed it to the waiter before saying, "Barkse, bring the champagne I ordered."

Turning to Hermione, he smiled down at her and led her through the door from which he had come. The room they entered was large and spacious. A crystal chandelier covering what looked like the whole of the ceiling sparkled down on them. The carpet underfoot was a rich turquoise, and intricately woven tapestries hung on the walls depicting ancient castles, some of which she had never seen before. She saw to her slight surprise that there were booths around the room, affording the diners within some privacy. Large tropical plants stood at strategic points throughout the room adding a bit of green to the decor. Music, the source of which she could not identify, played quietly in the background, adding to the relaxing atmosphere of the restaurant. Immaculately dressed waiters glided silently between the booths and Hermione had to admit that this was probably the most luxurious restaurant she had ever been to.

Malfoy led Hermione to a table screened by a large potted plant. Pulling out her chair he waited until she was seated before going round the table and seating himself opposite her. "You look lovely," he said smiling at her, "I don't believe I've seen you in that colour before!"

"Thank you," Hermione replied, not knowing how else to respond. She leaned back in her chair, which she noticed seemed to have moulded itself to the contours of her back, increasing the feeling of comfort. "This is a very nice place," she remarked, avoiding eye contact with Malfoy and trying to keep her voice light.

"Indeed it is," Malfoy agreed, leaning back gracefully in his chair, "you won't believe it, but it's stood in this exact same spot since 1732. The Lock and Key has seen much of history; it's seen its fair share of riots."

At that moment a waiter appeared carrying a bottle of champagne. At a nod from Malfoy, he proceeded to fill two glasses and then bowing, left. Smiling, Malfoy lifted his glass and waited until Hermione had done the same. "To the future!" he said, his eyes looking intensely into hers, as they clinked glasses.

"To the future," Hermione echoed, while something inside her seemed to tighten with apprehension. Raising the glass, she took a sip of the sparkling champagne.

"What do you think?" he enquired, watching her.

"It's very nice," Hermione answered, hoping the surprise was not too evident in her voice, "normally I'm not a fan of champagne, but this is very light and well…nice."

"Yes," Malfoy nodded, pleased that Hermione approved, "this particular bottle is brewed by a magical technique. Unlike Muggle methods, only perfectly sized grapes are sorted magically to make this. If wizards know how to do anything right, it's to make champagne."

Hermione laughed and some of the tension within her seemed to disperse along with the champagne bubbles, "If this is anything to go by, then I agree with you."

The waiter reappeared and placed guilt-edged menus before each of them, and then silently glided away. Hermione looked down at the menu before her and wondered what to order. "They seem to have dishes from all over the world," she marvelled, her eyes skimming the menu lying open before her.

"Well, the Lock and Key isn't one of the best Wizarding restaurants for nothing," he drawled. "I recommend the Colombian Avocado Vichyssoise soup – I've had it before and it's extremely good."

"I've never had it," Hermione considered, "oh well, there's always a first time for everything." She now turned her attention to the main courses and frowned in thought. "I think I'll go for the Radicchio Risotto – it sounds interesting."

"Rather you than me," Malfoy smiled, "I'm going to play safe and have the Oriental Steamed Fish. Shall we order?"

At her nod, he beckoned the waiter over and having given him their order, adding the house salad and the dessert du jour, dismissed him with a curt nod. Looking at Hermione once more, he asked, "So how have your holidays been so far?"

"Oh you know," Hermione shrugged, "they seem to be flying pass so fast. I really haven't done much except laze about and read."

"Hmm, but surely you deserve the rest? I mean all that studying we did before the NEWT's – no one would begrudge you a little time off. You're far too harsh on yourself, you know," the Slytherin smiled with a shake of his head.

She laughed just as the waiter reappeared and placed bowls of the cold soup before them.

"Bon appetite!" Draco said lifting his spoon and waiting for her to do the same.

Leaning back, Hermione had to admit that the unusual cold soup was extremely tasty and very different from the warm soup she was used to. Glancing once more at the restaurant's luxurious atmosphere, she mused, "How is it that there are no house elves or anything pertaining to magic here? I would've thought that in a restaurant such as this, everything would have been done using magic, but I can't see any signs of it here."

"Ah, my dear Hermione, your prejudices are surfacing again," Malfoy smiled charmingly, "The whole idea of a place such as this is to be waited on agree?" At her nod he went on, "Well, what then would be the point of using house elves or magic to summon our food and wine? After all, if that's what wizards wanted, they might as well stay at home to be served in that manner. Restaurants provide a refreshing change, a new experience to dining."

Hermione pondered his words as she ate some more soup. "So no magic's used here at all?" she asked, incredulous that there was such a place in the heart of the magic district.

Malfoy chuckled. "Oh magic _is_ certainly used here, but hidden behind the scenes. The magic of the Lock and Key is in its illusion of not using magic; ironic, but true." His grey eyes twinkled, and Hermione rolled her eyes in response. "Yes," he continued, turning on his charisma in full force, "I'm serious. Take the soup you're having for instance."

Hermione lowered her spoon and peered into the creamy green soup.

"The Avocadoes were probably prepared by House Elves in the kitchen, and cooked using magical means—"

"Ah, but even in Potions, we have to simmer and boil, so what's so magical about this restaurant's cooking?"

Malfoy raised his brows, "I doubt Muggle cooks are able to cool the soup using an instant freezing charm, thereby sealing the flavour into the soup; or keep the soup at it's prime temperature. You do know that accidentally freezing the vichyssoise would cause it to form ice crystals, marring the taste?"

Malfoy's explanation was something Hermione found difficult to deny, and she conceded that he was probably right, not that she was an expert on vichyssoise, or had a gourmand's palate to distinguish the taste. With a smile, Hermione sipped her soup, which remained at its constant cool temperature, appreciating the subtle flavour.

Following the comfortable silence, Malfoy stretched out his long legs beneath the table, and Hermione thought, not for the first time, that he was well used to dining out in this manner. a waiter soon returned to exchange their soup bowls for the salad bowls, and Hermione appreciated the beautiful mix of colours the salad displayed.

"So tell me," Malfoy initiated with a drawl, "Have you heard from Potter and Weasley during the holidays?"

"Yes, we owl quite regularly," she replied, picking up her salad fork. "Although I haven't actually seen them as they're both very busy preparing for Auror training."

"Indeed? So busy that they can't spare the time to see their friend?" he raised finely arched brows questioningly, "They're able to Apparate, aren't they? Don't tell me they've failed their Apparation tests?"

"Of course not!" Hermione snapped. Taking a breath so that she would not rise to the Slytherin's baiting, she added more pleasantly, "Ron and Harry are very busy, and so am I. I know I said I've been lazing and spending time reading these days, but I'm sure you well know," she smiled, "nothing takes up more time than doing nothing." She was conscious that her reasoning sounded rather lame even to herself, but Malfoy had made it sound as though Ron and Harry were deliberately ignoring her, even though she knew this was not the case.

Malfoy looked at the deceptively calm witch before him thoughtfully. He detected a note of defence in her tone and leaned forward with a reassuring smile. "Hermione I do understand, you know. It is as I said once before; as we grow older we all change. Our likes, dislikes, our acquaintances, our relationships; they all undergo change. 'The only constant is change'," he quoted, "People we once regarded as friends might not hold an interest for us a few months down the road. Our life's path diverge, and we find we lack a commonality to further some relationships. Likewise, those in whom we may not have had any previous interest now appear differently to us." Malfoy paused, taking a sip of water from his crystal water goblet. He sensed that Hermione was putting up a wall between them, in spite of listening to his monologue, so he said gently, "I know I sound callous, but that's really the way it is in reality. You really shouldn't be surprised if your friendship with Potter and Weasley now isn't the same as it was in school."

Hermione's eyes flashed. "You don't know what you're talking about," she bit out, glaring at him. "As far as any of the three of us are concerned, our friendship is strong enough to withstand the changes wrought by time and circumstance." Again, Hermione realised that she needed to tamp down her rising ire. Taking another deep breath, she continued more civilly, "I doubt that our friendship is so easily lost or broken. It was, after all, tempered and forged by shared adventure and adversity. I'll thank you not to make judgements on something you don't understand."

Malfoy considered Hermione's icy tone carefully. Fingering his water goblet, he tilted his head to the side, keeping his eyes on her warm chocolate ones and in a soft voice, said, "I apologise if I seemed judgemental. I was merely trying to offer my perspective. I didn't mean to offend you in any way."

Hermione bit her lower lip. She didn't want to be here. She was here on the Order's behalf, and it wouldn't do to keep overreacting to Malfoy's comments. She must admit, Malfoy's apology was unexpectedly gracious, and she strove to make sure to keep her temper in check and to endure the dinner with similar grace. With a wry smile, she replied, "No, you weren't being judgemental. I didn't mean to fly off the handle like that either."

He nodded and allowed the topic to drop. They continued their dinner discussing more neutral topics regarding Hermione's holiday until their salad bowls were removed and their main courses place before them. "Umm, are you still in contact with the Brocklehurst girl?"

"Who, Mandy?" Hermione asked in surprise, "Well yes, we still write to each other regularly. She's preparing for her degree in History of Magic at Cambridge University starting this September."

"That's right," he agreed, but the lack of interest in Mandy's plans was clearly evident in his voice, "And what about her brother? Have you seen much of him lately?"

Hermione frowned slightly at this question, and to give herself time to think, took a bite of her deliciously light risotto. Finally she looked up from her plate and responded with an off-handed shrug, "Well, let's see, the last time Adrian and I met was at the Graduation. I keep meaning to write to him, but somehow, I never get round to it." She watched with interest as Malfoys fingers tightened round his fork until the knuckles shone white.

"Why? Has he asked you to keep in touch then?" he bit out now, the exquisitely prepared fish in front of him forgotten as he stared at her.

Hermione wondered why her acquaintance with Adrian was of such importance to him, and after a moment answered with a light smile, "Yes, as a matter of fact, he did. I doubt I'll write to him though. There's too much else to do. I mean I barely manage to keep up with my correspondence with all my school friends, let alone start corresponding with someone whom I barely know. Besides, he hasn't written anything to me yet."

"Indeed," Malfoy drawled relaxing, "time's such a precious commodity. Like I said, this holiday of you busy 'doing nothing' is a well-earned break. After all, once you start at Stanwick, there'll be no recourse in terms of time. I think that trying to maintain the friendship forged in school's a better use of time than to waste it on practically a stranger." He sliced his fish deftly and continued, "Speaking of Stanwick, Mother was telling me that the course is no picnic; half of the new entrants drop out during the first year because they can't cope with the rigorous pace."

"Really?" Hermione's interest was piqued. Leaning forward, she asked, "How does your mother know this?"

"One of her friend's son started at Stanwick last year – according to mother, he just about managed to scrape through to the second year. And for Dixon De Winters to do that is worthy of note, considering he graduated from Beauxbatons with seven NEWTs."

"De Winters? You must be joking! Oh dear," Hermione shook her head, "it looks like I'll have a very challenging path ahead of me, then." Hermione's eyes gleamed with determination, anticipating the challenges she would face at the university.

Malfoy shook his head with a fond smile. Chewing his lip, he gazed at the silver-clad witch before him, his brow furrowed in thought. Then quietly, he said, "I doubt anything would stop you from doing what you believe in."

Hermione didn't respond to Malfoy's almost uncharacteristic musing. She blushed, and took the opportunity to look around them, soaking in the low hum of chatter and clinking of cutlery on crockery. The soft strains of a flute and harp filled the awkward silence.

"Such lovely music," she commented after a while, letting the music wash over her, as she leaned back in her chair. A wait staff very discreetly removed the remains of their main courses and put in front of them the dessert – a chocolate cream torte, and coffee.

"Hmmm, yes. It's Mozart's Flute Concerto Number 1 for Flute and Harp – one of my favourite pieces," Malfoy replied, gesturing to Hermione asking silently if she wanted cream in her coffee.

Hermione nodded, and Malfoy gallantly poured a spot of cream into her coffee. "You have a remarkable knowledge of classical music," she smiled.

"I had lessons on the piano and harp as a child. I've struggled with this piece enough to know it well," he deprecated with a chuckle. "It's like the Brocklehurst girl said when you visited, it's expected of the Old Families to ensure that their progeny plays at least one instrument. Fortunately," he looked up with a smile at Hermione, "I've always loved music. I know Crabbe struggled awfully screeching his violin, sounding like a cat being tortured—"

Hermione giggled at the thought, and Malfoy grinned.

"It's a wonder then, that the Ministry of Magic didn't issue a prohibitive summon for the Crabbes to prevent Vincent inflicting his 'music' on the sanity of the wizarding community at large," Malfoy quipped, to the accompaniment of Hermione's laughter.

"Oh dear," Hermione smiled, laughter shining in her eyes.

"Yes, I'm more than thankful to inherit my father's love of music. It made my learning all the more enjoyable. Father has lots of sheet music, but his three favourites are Mozart, Vivaldi, and Rachmaninoff."

"I didn't know," Hermione shook her head in wonderment, this side of Lucius Malfoy's character surprised and intrigued her, "I can't imagine your father loving music – it just seems…well…"

"Out of character?" Malfoy smiled knowingly, taking a bite of his rich chocolate dessert.

Hermione watched him savouring the confection, his eyes quietly assessing her.

"Ah Hermione, you're too smart to judge by appearances. I think you'd be pleasantly surprised if you took the time to get to know my parents. Father has a lot of knowledge about music, especially voice."

Hermione sipped her coffee, as Malfoy beckoned the wait staff for another order of coffee.

"Alas, singing is something most wizards have difficulty with," he continued, "and is a talent that no amount of training can improve. Tell me," he smiled, "did you have singing lessons? Your voice is one of the most pure and powerful I've ever heard."

Returning Malfoy's smile, Hermione confessed, "I started lessons at the age of five – pitch-training, diction. The training wasn't really difficult for me; I guess I'm naturally gifted in singing. My nursery school had encouraged Mum and Dad to let me have formal training, and with success at every level, they were encouraged to keep me in classical voice training."

"Did your brother take lessons as well?" he asked eyeing her over the rim of his fresh cup of coffee.

Hermione bit back a laugh at the thought of Mathew taking lessons in singing or picking up a classical instrument. Electric guitar maybe, but that was the extent of his very brief musical interest. According to him, music was a 'girly' thing and something he 'wouldn't be caught dead doing'. "No," she smiled, "my brother hasn't quite the right temperament to study music. He's far too impatient."

"What's he like?" he asked leaning forward with interest, "You don't talk about him much. Why, it was only when your mother mentioned him at our graduation that I realised you had a brother at all."

"Well," Hermione shrugged, "there're four years between us and as we don't see much of one another during term time, we've grown quite apart. He's a typical boy; chauvinistic and selfish. The only things he cares about are football and food."

Malfoy laughed softly, "You're a hard woman to please, Hermione," he chided gently.

Still smiling, he inquired if Hermione needed anything else. At her negative reply, he called for the bill and paid for their dinner. Getting up, he came round to her side of the table and drew out her chair. Helping her to her feet, he smiled down at her, "Have you got everything?"

"Yes, thanks," she replied self-consciously. She was conscious of many pairs of curious eyes watching them and wished that the other diners would all look away. She was glad therefore, when Malfoy gallantly escorted her out of the restaurant back into the foyer.

The maître d' held out their cloaks as they approached him. "I hope that you had an excellent dinner," he said with a slight bow.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, we did, thank you," Hermione smiled appreciatively, "It was wonderful." Hermione's smile lit up the maître d's demeanour. From the looks of it, a note of thanks was something he got all too rarely.

Beside her, Malfoy said nothing. He took Hermione's cloak from the other man and proceeded to drape it round her shoulders. Standing between the maître d' and Hermione, he marked out his territory possessively. Malfoy made a great fuss of fastening Hermione's cloak and once this was done, he swung his own cloak round his shoulders with an elegant flair, before placing a proprietorial hand on the small of Hermione's back leding her towards the double doors out onto Diagon Alley without a backward glance.

Lights twinkled here and there, casting a glow over the cobbles. A warm breeze ruffled the hem of Hermione's robes as she stepped out of the brightly lit restaurant, Malfoy beside her. They made their way down the now empty street in silence, each preoccupied with their own thoughts, feeling satiated by the good food and companionable company. Soon the wall separating them from the Leaky Cauldron came into sight and Hermione turned to her brooding dinner partner.

"That was a wonderful dinner," she said sincerely, looking up into his face, "Thank you."

For a moment, Malfoy said nothing and simply allowed his grey eyes to search her face. Then as though pulling himself together, he smiled, "Actually, if you aren't in too much of a hurry, I was hoping that you may like to come to the manor for coffee. Mother and father would love to see you again."

Hermione stared up at him in the dim light coming from the Leaky Cauldron's windows. She gulped; what should she do? On the one hand, he had left the question open. All she need do was to make an excuse and she could easily get away. On the other hand, he had just taken her to dinner at a restaurant, the equivalent of the Savoy. It would seem churlish as well as rude to refuse this invitation after he had spent so much money on her. Also, she knew Draco Malfoy too well; he would never take no for an answer. No doubt he had his reasons for inviting her to the manor and it was better she go willingly than by force. Anyway, while she was there, maybe she would be able to find out something for the Order. After all, she had her wand on her and if that proved to be of no use, she could always fall back on her Animagus transformation. She hoped it wouldn't come to that, as she still hadn't quite mastered the art of not panicking when looking down.

Yes, perhaps she could ask to look round the library while she was there, and in doing so, carry out one of the tasks assigned to her by the Order. As yet, it had been the Order who had done all the giving by ensuring she was trained to make best use of her powers. It was high time she gave something back and this would be the perfect opportunity. She would not stay long at the manor – just long enough to take a quick look round the library.

"Thank you," she accepted, "but I can't stay too long. I promised mum I'd help with the baking for tomorrow's church fete."

He smiled and drawled, "Good. We'll have to use tandem Apparation to get to the manor. Ready?"

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said with a nervous smile, as he drew her against him, putting his arms round her.

"Of course I do," came the smirk and confident reply, "now make sure your arms are secure around me. Yes, like so – it'll make it easier to direct us both. Now, hold on tight."

Hermione shut her eyes as she gripped Malfoy tightly round the waist. With a small pop they Disapparated to appear a moment later outside Malfoy manor.

She staggered as she opened her eyes. This was nothing like single Apparation and she had no doubt as to which she preferred. Taking a deep breath, she stood upright and to her relief the ground stayed where it was.

"Are you ok?" Malfoy asked, watching her carefully as slowly he released his hold on her. At her nod, he went on, "Then let's get inside. It's getting cooler out here and that cloak won't protect you from the breeze."

Taking her arm, he led her up the marble steps to the front door. No sooner had they mounted the steps, the doors were opened by a house elf which stepped aside as they entered the well-lit hall.

"Here, take Hermione's cloak," Draco ordered, as the house elf shut the doors behind them. Undoing her cloak, he handed it with his own to the nervous looking elf who hung them up. "Where are mother and father?"

"They is in the drawing room sir," the elf squeaked in response.

"Draco, back so soon?"

Whipping round, Hermione saw Lucius framed in the doorway of what she remembered to be the informal drawing room. The light shone on his hair but left the rest of his face in shadow.

"Father," Draco greeted the man casually, "Hermione accepted my invitation to coffee and here we are."

At these words, Lucius stepped forward, his lazy smile replaced with an alert expression, "Indeed, that is wonderful. Welcome, Hermione. Narcissa, we have a guest."

The sound of rustling silk reached Hermione's ears, and a moment later, Narcissa appeared, smiling brilliantly. "Hermione my dear, this is an unexpected surprise, welcome!" Coming forward, she bent and kissed Hermione on the cheek and led her into the drawing room, her husband and son following behind. "Tell me, how was dinner? I have always like the Lock and Key – I presume that is where you went?"

"Mother, stop smothering Hermione," Draco grinned, pulling Hermione playfully away from his mother's clutches and leading her to a sofa, "she has come here to visit, not be so rudely bombarded with questions."

Narcissa simply pouted in response and having rung for coffee, resumed, "So did you go to the Lock and Key? It is a wonderful place – so elegant! The service is divine!"

"Yes," Hermione said unable to help smiling at Narcissa's exuberance, "it was very nice." She couldn't help stifling a grin at Draco's eye roll at his mother's interest.

"Quite," Lucius agreed, "it's one of the few decent restaurants around." The Malfoy senior sat himself opposite Hermione and regarding her thoughtfully, "Was it the first time you dined there?"

"Yes, it was. And the food was delicious," she replied, "it was as Narcissa said – a wonderful dining experience."

At that moment a house-elf appeared carrying a tray of steaming coffee. Hermione eyed the tray covertly as Narcissa poured and handed the cups round. Taking her own cup, she placed it on the side table next to her, wondering how she was going to get out of drinking it. She had not forgotten what had happened to the Brocklehursts during the Easter holidays and was determined that she would not suffer the same fate.

"I do like coffee made from Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee beans," Lucius remarked taking an appreciative sip.

Hermione looked down into her own coffee cup, and taking a deep breath said, "Actually, I'm really full – the food at the Lock and Key was very rich and I don't think I could eat or drink anything else. Besides, I'm not much of a coffee drinker. As it is, I've already exceeded my coffee limit at dinner tonight." She gave Draco a smile in an effort to get him to confirm her statement, and directed an apologetic smile at Narcissa as she spoke. The other woman's eyes narrowed and Hermione knew from the expression in them that she did not believe her.

"Well, she did have two cups of coffee at the Lock and Key," Draco began, but was cut off by his mother.

"It's fine, Draco," Narcissa said her hostess-smile not faltering, "The truth is that Hermione's not adverse to coffee; she's just a little wary. Some things do not change over night, I fear."

Hermione felt the colour flood her cheeks, but she was determined not to apologise and drink her cup of coffee. Narcissa, she well knew, was one of the most manipulative people she knew. Making Hermione feel guilty would ensure her drinking the coffee. Not this time, Hermione promised herself, she wouldn't let Narcissa get her way.

As though reading her thoughts, Narcissa relented, "Hermione, look, it's fine, I understand how you feel about us, but it's only coffee. And no, don't worry; I won't force you to drink it if you really don't want to. See? I haven't drunk from my own cup yet, so I'll swap with you, all right? You can be sure that there's no poison in my cup – after all, I am not like to harm myself now am I?" With a smile, she glided over to Hermione, and placed her own coffee cup on the table beside her, before scooping up Hermione's untouched cup and reseating herself.

Not knowing how to respond to this, Hermione glanced at Draco, but he was looking at his mother, eyebrows raised. Lucius, for once was taking no part in the conversation, staring into the fire, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Thank you," Hermione hesitated. She now had no excuse not to drink the deliciously smelling coffee. To still refuse to partake the beverage would make her look rude; to partake – well, it _was_ Narcissa's cup, and she would not poison herself now would she?

Smiling gingerly, Hermione quipped, "Well, I doubt I'll get any sleep tonight," as she picked up the fragrant cup of coffee.

Narcissa laughed charmingly, and Draco grinned. Lucius still stared at the fireplace.

Hermione took a sip from her cup. Lucius was indeed right – it was the best coffee she had ever tasted; smooth and creamy on her palate. "I don't drink much coffee," she said, looking up at Narcissa who was eyeing her intensely, "but this is really good." Hermione smiled as she drank some more; she really didn't know why she was making such a fuss over a cup of coffee. She must be losing it to have caused such a scene.

Draco and Narcissa chatted quietly about what they had ordered at dinner. Narcissa seemed delighted at their choices. Hermione tried to stifle a yawn; sitting in the Malfoys' drawing room felt warm and relaxing. Why she had ever thought that Draco and his parents were objectionable, she'd never know. They were a wealthy family, but here in the cosy drawing room, they were just like any other father, mother and son.

Finishing her coffee, Hermione placed the cup down and tried to stifle another yawn. Why, the Malfoys were just as hospitable as the Weasleys when it came down to the basics. Oh she was tired, so very tired. She would quite happily put her head back and let sleep claim her. Leaning back into the comfortable sofa, another wave of drowsiness hit her. She wondered if the Malfoys would mind too much if she just had a little nap, while they were still conversing.

She was vaguely aware of Narcissa standing beside her, her hand stroking the hair back from Hermione's forehead. "It's all right," she heard Narcissa say, and smiled in response. Good, the Malfoys wouldn't mind if she just had a quick nap. See, so hospitable, and so much like Molly Weasley in her care of her guests. Hermione couldn't understand why she had disliked the Malfoys so much. Oh well, she gave a mental shrug, she could put things right and thank them for their kindness when she felt more awake. Giving up all resistance, Hermione allowed the waves of tiredness roll over her, engulfing her in wonderful blissful oblivion. She slid sideways onto Draco's lap, deeply asleep.


	15. Chapter 14

Authors Note: Sorry for the late update, this was actually finished a week ago but my beta had problems with her email hence the longer delay. Anyway enjoy and please let me know what you think.

Chapter 14

Hermione groaned as she began gradually to wake and work her way through the layers of sleep clogging her brain. She could have quite happily slept on, but her stomach, which had remained empty for a good few hours now, gave a protesting rumble. Slowly she opened her eyes, which felt as though they were being weighed down with pound coins, and looked round her.

The room she was in was large and spacious; bright sunlight streamed in through a gap in the cream and lilac curtains. Frowning slightly, Hermione wondered where she was. She was far too tired to even consider panicking, so in an effort to conserve her strength, she tried to think back to the night before. She remembered vaguely dining with Draco Malfoy at the Lock and Key, and then returning to Malfoy Manor with him… now why had she done that? Screwing up her face in concentration, she had an unclear recollection of planning to look at the library… ah yes, that was it! She had hoped to have a good look around the Malfoy library while at the Manor.

Glad that this bit of the puzzle had been sorted out, she sighed into her pillow, still trying to piece together the events of the rest of the evening. She had sat with the Malfoys in their drawing room and had refused coffee; yes she definitely remembered Narcissa Malfoy's barbed remarks when Hermione had refused to drink the beverage. Then Narcissa had swapped cups with her and… She clutched the duvet to her as realisation hit her; she must be at Malfoy Manor!

Slowly and deliberately, she brought her right hand up to feel for the tiny scar on her left arm. Locating it, she pressed it with her index finger while calling Professor Dumbledore's name loudly in her head.

To her intense relief, his voice answered her call a moment later. "Hermione, where are you? Are you all right?"

Trying not to panic now, and also to combat the feeling of sickness that was threatening to choke her, she explained what had happened as succinctly as possible without leaving out anything. "…so you see, I've just woken up, and Professor, I feel awful. It hurts to think, if you know what I mean."

"Hermione, you must remain calm and focused," Dumbledore said in a calm, reassuring voice, "Everything will be all right, I promise. Now, listen to me. Right now, you're in a perfect position to find out some much needed information about the Malfoys. I am sure your feelings of discomfort will pass – no doubt it's the after effects of the sleeping draft Narcissa Malfoy put into your coffee last night. As I was saying, it's vital you go along with the Malfoys' plans for the time being, as they will allow us to gather the information which we desperately need."

"But Professor, what if they want to hurt me?" she argued back as a sharp pain shot through her temples.

"We know they don't want to do that. It is in their interests to keep you alive and well," he replied confidently, "you have no need to fear on that account. Just go along with all they ask of you, and try to remember every conversation, every nuance of expression and so forth – we can never underestimate the details you might pick up. Oh and before I forget, if you do have the chance, ask to look at their library. I don't think your request will look odd, for your love of books is well known."

"Yes, I suppose I can do what you say," Hermione admitted unhappily, "but I'd rather not do this Professor. I've a bad feeling about all this and…"

"My dear, there are plenty of things we would rather not do, _especially_ during war time," he now said, a sharp note entering his otherwise calm voice, " but just think of it as being for the greater good. I understand you are frightened, but just remember: the Malfoys won't hurt you in any way; they can't afford to do so. Now I must go, but do not worry, for you are in no danger."

"Right," she replied disconsolately. In the next moment, Dumbledore had broken the connection between them, leaving her quite alone.

Hermione now felt worse than she had done before consulting Dumbledore. Every instinct within her screamed at her to get out of the Manor as fast as she could, and yet if she gave in to this temptation, she would be letting the Order down. Glancing wildly round the room, she couldn't see her wand anywhere. If she had to stay here, she wanted to at least have her wand to hand. She was now fully awake, but wished that the fuzziness that was making it so hard for her to think would leave her. Carefully, she pushed the duvet back, and swung her legs out of the bed. Immediately, the room began to tilt in the most alarming way, causing Hermione to squeal and hang on to the bedding. Slowly the room stopped revolving round her and she edged to the side of the bed, placing her bare feet on the carpeted floor.

She had to find her wand at all costs.

Stumbling, she swayed for a moment and clutched the bedpost for support. Her eyes stared wildly round the room, but there was no sign of either the clothes she had worn the night before, or her wand. Leaning against the solid bedpost, Hermione tried to sort out her jumbled thoughts. Looking down at herself, she saw that she was clad in a long spaghetti-strapped nightdress. No doubt one of Narcissa's, she thought bitterly.

The sound of the door being pushed open made her look up. A serenely smiling Narcissa Malfoy glided through and shut the door behind her. She walked across the room to where Hermione stood, still holding onto the bedpost to keep herself upright.

"Good morning, my dear," Narcissa cooed, taking Hermione by the arm and forcing her back onto the bed. "I trust you slept well?"

"Erm," Hermione mumbled, "I…that is…."

"Hush now," Narcissa soothed, sitting down beside Hermione's limp form, "Everything's fine. I took the liberty of writing to your parents last night; after all, we wouldn't want them to worry, now would we?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Good, so there's really no need to worry about a single thing," Narcissa continued smoothly. "Just stay here while I sort out something for you to wear. Your dress robes certainly won't do for day wear." So saying she got up, and smiling sweetly, left the room.

Hermione stared quietly at the closed door and wondered vaguely if she could run for it. She had a very bad feeling about all this and wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the Malfoys, regardless of whatever the Order wanted. Narcissa still hadn't explained what had transpired the night before, and Hermione doubted she would even do so, if pressed.

In what felt like no time, Narcissa was back carrying something over her arm. "Now, my house elf will bathe you, and once that is done, I will assist you to dress."

"Thanks, but that really isn't necessary," Hermione said, trying to smile, but failing as her facial muscles just wouldn't cooperate.

"No my dear, I insist! After all, you are our guest!" Narcissa clicked her fingers, and a split second later, a house elf wrapped in a tea towel appeared before her.

"Zaki, I want you to bathe Hermione. I will return in twenty minutes, by which time she should be ready."

"Yes Mistress," the house elf bowed, "Zaki always wants to please her Mistress."

"Good, everything is laid out and ready." With these words, Narcissa swept from the room, leaving Hermione and the house elf alone.

"I can bathe myself," Hermione started, but the house elf, clicking her long fingers, caused Hermione to be levitated into the air.

"Zaki is bathing Miss," the house elf said, as she levitated a shocked Hermione into the adjoining bathroom.

Hermione, trying hard to fight the magic with which she had been lifted, spluttered, "Please put me down, I…."

"Miss is sick," the house elf said, as she clicked her fingers once more and the marble claw-footed bath filled instantly with warm scented water, "Miss can not stand by herself so Zaki will help her."

Hermione had no answer to this. The house elf was right – she could not stand unaided. Besides, it seemed far too much trouble to fight with the house elf right now. Blinking, she watched as Zaki maintained the levitation charm to keep Hermione afloat, and bustled around the large bathroom, adding what looked like bubble bath to the hot water and placing other bottles, the contents of which Hermione could only guess at, on the side of the tub. Turning back to Hermione, the house elf proceeded to strip the nightgown off her, making Hermione gasp slightly. She watched mutely as the elf began to smear a thick greenish cream all over her body, but let out an indignant squeak when the elf attempted to coat areas Hermione would rather no one else see – let alone touch.

"Zaki," she squeaked, "Stop. You can't…not there!"

"Zaki has to remove all of Miss's body hair," the elf replied, "Mistress says so."

"Fine," Hermione answered feebly, "but I'll put the cream on those bits myself." With trembling fingers she smeared the cream over her private parts while the house elf watched impassively. "Why do I have to remove all my body hair?" Hermione asked.

"Because Mistress says so," Zaki replied, now levitating Hermione into the bath of steaming hot water.

"But why—"

The house elf began to wash the greeny goo off Hermione and she had to marvel at the ease with which the body hair was removed. If only she had known of this potion before, it would have saved her hours of agony, while her body hair was removed using wax and other depilatory creams.

"Miss must close her eyes," the elf said, as with a flick of one finger she changed the bath water. "Zaki doesn't want the shampoo to hurt Miss's eyes."

Hermione simply nodded and allowed the house elf to massage the shampoo into her hair. This too, was washed out, and then came the conditioner, a rose and jasmine scented concoction, which filled the bathroom with its light fragrance. She leaned against the side of the large marble bath, breathing in the scented steam of the hot water. She couldn't understand why she felt so unwell, tired, and muzzy.

The sound of the house elf putting down yet another bottle, after having scrubbed Hermione from head to toe, made Hermione look up. As she watched passively, Zaki picked up a large bath sheet from where it had been lying over the gleaming towel rail and with another click of her fingers, caused Hermione to rise out of the water and hang limply suspended in mid air as she wrapped the towel tightly about her form.

"Miss is all clean now," Zaki squeaked, levitating Hermione out of the steam-filled bathroom back into the bedroom. Depositing her on the bed, the elf turned away. Just as she did so, the bedroom door was pushed open, and Narcissa entered the room.

"Excellent, excellent," she beamed, looking down at Hermione's prostrate figure on the bed, "now I will help you dress and then you will be ready!"

"Ready?" Hermione echoed, eyeing Narcissa as she bustled round the bed and pulled open the double door wardrobe, "Ready for what?"

Narcissa did not answer, but carried on removing items Hermione could not yet see, from the vast depths of the wardrobe. Finally, she stepped back and pushed the wardrobe doors shut. Turning to face Hermione, she carried a set of delicate silk robes over her arm, which looked as though one tug would rip them in two. They seem to flow out over her arm, weightless and shimmering.

"Zaki," Narcissa barked out, "Unwrap the towel from around Hermione."

In one fluid movement, the bath towel which Hermione had been clutching tightly, unwrapped itself.

"Now my dear, if you could just sit up for me," Narcissa smiled, as she came to stand at the head of the bed.

"I don't understand—" Hermione began, but was shushed by Narcissa, who pulled her gently into a sitting position.

"There is nothing to understand," she placated, while pulling the robes over Hermione's head. "If you could just raise your arms for me…"

Obediently, Hermione raised her arms, while wondering why this was happening. She tried pulling her arms down but to no avail; they stayed where they were as Narcissa slid them into the sleeves of the delicate silk robes.

"There you are!" she smiled, pulling the robes down to cover Hermione completely, "See? That was painless, now was it not?"

"Yes, but I'm not wearing any underwear…" Hermione began hesitantly. Her speech, she realised dimly, seemed a little slurred, as though she hadn't used her tongue in years and the muscles had forgotten how to contract and relax.

"Oh that," Narcissa smiled, "Underclothing is not required while wearing these robes. One might even say that that was the beauty of them."

"No underwear?" Hermione questioned blankly.

"No, not with these robes. Now stand up and let's do something with your lovely long hair." Helping Hermione off the bed, she led her over to the dressing table and pulling out the stool, she pushed Hermione's unresisting form down onto it. "Hmm, I know – I think your hair ought to be left down, as mine was. Yes, that will go very nicely." She started brushing back Hermione's long curly hair and sighed. "You know, this is one of the things I miss most about not having a daughter of my own, the opportunity to pamper and cosset her."

"Right," Hermione muttered. Another wave of unwelcome sickness was rolling over her and it was much easier to agree with Narcissa's inane chatter than attempt to disagree.

Finally, Narcissa was satisfied. Smiling still more broadly, she asked, "Don't you want to look at yourself in the mirror, Hermione?"

Lifting her head, Hermione gazed back at her reflection. Dumbledore had said not to ask too many questions and play along. She could almost hear his voice echoing in her head assuring her that she was helping the Order by pretending to go along with the Malfoys' plans. She stared at her own face; her skin seemed iridescent due to the dazzling pure white of the silk robes. Her hair was gathered into a ponytail at the nape of her neck with a white silk ribbon, and a wreath of jasmine and lavender had been woven into her hair. The whole effect looked charming. She frowned at the face looking back at her, thinking she looked like the sacrificial bride before her doom.

"Do you like it?" Narcissa asked from behind her, "I must say that I think you look absolutely stunning! These robes have been in the Malfoy family for five centuries now."

Hermione stared down at her robes and hesitantly asked, "But… but why am I wearing them? I mean, they must be very valuable… so why… Surely there is something else I can borrow that is less of a family heirloom?"

"Oh no, my dear, these robes are just right for the occasion. They are indeed valuable; there is a lot of meaning attached to these robes. Why, I myself wore them twenty years ago, and I am proud to say they are as beautiful as ever."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest again, but with a small pop, Zaki appeared once more at Narcissa's elbow.

"They is ready mistress," she said in hushed tones, not looking at Hermione.

"Very good," Narcissa dismissed the house elf. Turning to Hermione, she smiled. "Shall we go down?" she asked, taking Hermione's elbow and drawing her to her feet. "Lucius and Draco await us on the patio for mid morning coffee."

Nodding mutely, Hermione allowed herself to be led to the door before a thought occurred to her. "Um, Narcissa, I am not wearing any shoes."

"Oh you don't need shoes," Narcissa said airily, opening the door and shepherding Hermione through it, "it is traditional not to wear shoes with that particular set of robes."

Hermione could feel an uneasy nervousness begin to stir within her. She looked down at the simple silk robes she was wearing and wondered not for the first time as to their significance. As far as she was aware, it was considered the height of rudeness to appear in Wizarding Company not wearing shoes. To her knowledge there was only one occasion a woman was expected to walk barefooted and that was her wedding day. On this day, she had to be dressed simply and wear as few adornments as possible, all her body hair had to be removed and she wasn't even allowed the necessity of undergarments due to the magic that was used to bind her and her future husband together. The bride's robes had to be made of the purest silk and all the old pureblood families had robes that were passed down through the generations, that all new brides marrying into the groom's family had to wear. Mandy had talked of this at great length, while giggling during Hermione's stay with the Brocklehursts. Hermione had listened fascinated as Mandy had recounted all the details of the ceremony.

Slowly, as she walked along beside Narcissa down the richly carpeted corridor, the pieces began to click into place. She glanced once more down at herself and gasped they couldn't be, they just couldn't…

"No," Hermione gasped, trying not to panic as finally the truth of what was about to happen sunk in, "no, I won't…" With a tremendous effort, she wrenched her arm from Narcissa's grip and stumbled back a few steps, staring around her in horror. "You can't do this!" A wave of pain swept through her head but she didn't care, she had to stop this now before it was too late.

She watched as the smile faded from Narcissa's face, her lips pressing together in a thin line. Putting her hand into the pocket of her own light blue robes, she brought out a small vial of purple potion and grasping Hermione roughly by the chin forced her mouth open.

Hermione felt sick, her earlier nausea combined with this suffocating feeling of panic made her want to throw up then and there. She tried in vain to jerk her chin from Narcissa's grasp but the other woman, not hampered by sickness or a searing mind-numbing pain in her head, was much stronger.

"Oh no you don't," she snarled, "we have planned this far too long to let you spoil everything now!"

Tipping two drops of the purple potion onto Hermione's tongue, she released her, placing the vial back into the pocket of her robes.

As soon as the potion touched her tongue, Hermione felt a calm settling over her. She relaxed, wondering why she had been making such a fuss. The pain that had so savagely attacked her temples a moment ago faded, leaving behind it a welcome peace. She didn't object when Narcissa took her arm again, and began leading her down the hall to the staircase. She tried not to stumble on the hem of her robes as they descended, and Narcissa, evidently relieved, smiled broadly once more.

"Where…where are we going?" Hermione asked, in a faint voice.

"Oh, to one of the gardens at the back of the house. You will find it quite delightful there." So saying she led the unresisting Hermione down many more corridors, and finally pushing open a large door, she ushered the younger woman into a large garden.

XoXoXoXo

A huddle of figures stood waiting for them as they made their way over the grass towards them. Hermione could feel the cool grass still wet with dew in places against her bare feet.

She noticed with detached interest that a large circle had been traced in the grass in which Lucius and Draco stood.

"There you are," Lucius smiled jovially, "Draco and I were getting quite worried."

Beside him stood the figure of his son, who like Hermione, was clad in a simple white silk robe, standing barefooted in the soft breeze. Around the two Malfoys stood other figures, whose faces were in shadow. To one side of the circle a fire crackled merrily, the flames dancing in the sunlight. Opposite to the flames stood a crystal bowl full of water.

"Shall we begin then?" said a quiet voice to Hermione's left. A small figure wearing dark robes stepped forward.

"Yes, of course," Lucius replied, stepping back.

"Narcissa, is the bride ready to begin?" the man asked. A ray of sunlight fell onto his face, illuminating it. He was very old, with white hair and a kindly smile. His face was wrinkled and there were lines around his eyes.

"Yes," Narcissa clipped, pushing Hermione forward and stationing herself behind her.

Hermione now stood facing Draco. Narcissa stood behind Hermione, while Lucius stood behind Draco. They were flanked on all sides by the rest of the group, while the old man, who seemed to be presiding over the ceremony, stood at right angles to Hermione and Draco.

The old man produced a wand from the depths of his cloak and began speaking in a deep authoritative voice.

"We have come together here in celebration of the joining together of Hermione Jane Granger and Draco Azaleas Malfoy.

"There are many things to say about preparing for marriage. Much Wisdom concerning the joining together of two souls has come our way through all paths of Knowledge and Belief. With each union, more Knowledge is gained and more Wisdom is gathered. Though we are unable to give all this Knowledge to these two who stand before us, we can hope to leave with them the Knowledge of Love and its strengths, and the anticipation of the Wisdom that comes with time."

The man's voice cut through the silent air and Hermione stood rigid, her body and mind in turmoil. She felt very calm, but at the same time something deep within her was clambering to be heard, a small desperate voice crying out; but even as she tried to acknowledge its presence, the calm feeling swamped it, and she once again returned her attention to the man standing between her and Draco, his wand raised.

"The Law of Life is love unto all beings. Without Love, Life is nothing, without Love, Death has no redemption. Love is anterior to Life, posterior to Death, Initial of Creation, and the exponent of Earth. If we learn no more in Life, let it be this.

"Marriage is a bond to be entered only after considerable thought and reflection. As with any aspect of life, it has its cycles, its ups and downs, its trials and its triumphs. With full understanding of this, Hermione Jane Granger and Draco Azaleas Malfoy have come here today to be bound together for the rest of their lives in the manner of the ancient cultures and beliefs.

"Others would ask who gives this woman into this commitment, but as a woman is not property to be bought or sold, given and taken, I simply ask if she comes of her own free will, and if she has her family's blessings."

"Hermione Jane Granger, is it true that you come of your own free will and accord?"

"Yes, it is true." Hermione heard herself answering, but unable to stop the words coming out of her mouth. She simply stared at the man standing to her left.

"And whose blessings accompany you?" he asked in that calm voice.

"I come with my family's blessings," Hermione once again replied automatically.

"Please join hands with your betrothed and listen to that which I am about to say."

Of their own volition her hands reached out to grasp Draco's. His grip was firm as he held her hands within his. Part of her implored her hands to let go of his, to get out of the ceremony, but her hands stayed where they were, her fingers entwined with Draco's.

"Above you are the stars, below you the stones, as time doth pass, remembered like a stone, should your love be firm. Like a star, should your love be constant. Let the powers of the mind and of the intellect guide you in your marriage, let the strengths of your wills bind you together, let the power of love and desire make you happy, and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Be close, but allow for space to grow. Possess one another, yet be understanding. Have patience with one another, for storms will come, but they will pass quickly. Be free in giving affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the unenlightened give you unease, for the natural magic contained in the four elements is with you always.

"Draco Azaleas Malfoy, do you wish to be bound to this woman for the rest of your mortal life, in sickness and health, to cherish and protect her from all that may be harmful, and to be constant to her and her alone?"

"I do!" Draco said in a clear voice, while something within Hermione whimpered piteously.

"Hermione Jane Granger, do you wish to be bound to this man for the rest of your mortal life, to love and be loved by him and him alone, in sickness and health, to be his other half and thus create a bond that can be broken through neither time nor space?"

Hermione opened her mouth, and at the same time made to bite her tongue but without success. She was aware of Narcissa standing rigidly behind her waiting. "I do," she said quietly, while she could feel something in her start to scream.

The old man with a flick of his wand produced a white chord and taking Hermione's and Draco's left hands bound them with one end of the chord, Draco's hand covering Hermione's. Then he proceeded to do the same for their right hands and stepping back carried on

"Then repeat in unison after me:

"I, in the name of the magic given to us by the four elements, that which resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire thee, and be desired by thee, to possess thee, and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people, and thy ways as I respect myself."

Hermione could hear herself chanting the words with Draco and wondered vaguely how she had come to know them so well. As they finished speaking, the chord binding her and Draco's hands tightened pulling both teens against each other. Hermione felt as though something within her was being squeezed until there was nothing left. There was a pain in her chest as though her heart was being ripped out of her and she swayed on the spot. She didn't know if she cried out or not, but the feeling of complete emptiness engulfed her, making her unable to see or hear anything. The old man's voice seemed to make no sense as she fought to drag air into her lungs.

"Be with us here, oh Spirits of the Air! With your breath of life, join the bonds between these two and bind them tightly. Be with us here, oh Beings of Fire! Give their love and passion your own all-consuming ardour. Be with us here, oh Beings of Water! Grant these two the deepest of love, richness of body, soul and spirit. Be with us here, oh Spirits of Earth! Let your strength and constancy be theirs for as long as they both shall live."

As the old man's words died away, a new feeling, one of utter rightness began to sweep over Hermione and take the place of the emptiness. It too, engulfed her, and she felt as though she was being reborn from the inside out. She felt happiness, hope, and contentment blossom within her and her earlier pain had totally disappeared. She felt the life pulsing within her and the blood coursing through her veins. Looking down, she saw that the chord which had been cutting into her wrists a moment ago, had turned pure gold, and as she watched, it fell away, freeing her and Draco's hands.

"Congratulations to both of you. You are now bound by the magic of Earth, Fire, Air and Water. Blessings upon you both!" The old man smiled, stepping back and surveying the pale-faced couple standing before him.

Around them, other people began to stir. Narcissa, with a muffled sob, moved around Hermione and pulled both Hermione and Draco into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh congratulations both of you," she gasped through her tears, "this is so wonderful."

"Narcissa, let them both breathe, will you?" a beaming Lucius remonstrated, and he too, hugged an unresisting Hermione and Draco. "They'll both be tired after their ordeal." He continued, looking at the young couple, "The two of you need your rest now."

"Oh yes," a still sobbing Narcissa agreed, "Yes, to your rooms to lie down. That isn't an ordeal to be taken lightly."

People were moving around them, faceless individuals congratulating her and Draco while they stood ashen faced, silent and exhausted.

"I must say," a loud voice declared, "that was some powerful magic that bound them. Did you see the ground around them shimmer? And the air! It was so heavy with magical energy."

"Oh yes," someone else agreed in wonderment, "and the water in the crystal goblet! It lifted! It actually rose into the air before settling back down again. Not to mention the flames of the fire – they actually turned bright gold and sort of fanned out before going back to orange – absolutely fascinating!"

"I've never seen a bonding so powerful before," another voice chimed in, "the match between your son and daughter-in-law Lucius, was certainly approved of by the magic residing in the elements!"

"Thank you very much," Lucius' smug voice now purred.

"Lucius, I hate to interrupt your euphoric state," a mocking voice sneered, "but if those two don't rest now, you won't have a son or daughter-in-law to crow about."

Hermione looked up blearily, she knew that cold sneering voice, it had sneered and docked more points than she cared to remember from Gryffindor during potions lessons – Snape! Focusing on the direction from which his voice had come, she made out his tall greasy-haired figure leaning against a large oak tree sneering at the goings on around him.

"Ah yes," Lucius nodded, "Come on you two, we can celebrate later."

Hermione felt her arm being taken and she was turned towards the house. She leaned against the person supporting her as she moved wearily forward. Trudging back to the house and up the thickly carpeted stairs, she felt bone weary as she walked, and her muscles ached as though she had run ten miles.

Narcissa's voice broke into her thoughts, "Don't worry, it is always like this. The bonding uses primal untainted magic, which is harsh on our energy supply. Well, here we are!"

She pushed open a door and led Hermione into a room. Hermione had not the strength to take in her surroundings, and let out a grateful sigh as Narcissa settled her on the large comfortable bed in the middle of the room. She made short work of stripping off Hermione's robes and pulling a nightdress over her head. In no time, Hermione's hair had had the flowers and silk ribbon removed from it, and she was settled beneath the sheets.

"Now sleep," Narcissa commanded, "you need to get your strength back." Bending down, she kissed Hermione's forehead before tucking the satin sheets round her. Straightening up, Narcissa left the room silently, shutting the door softly behind her.

There was silence once Narcissa had departed and Hermione lay exhausted listening to the chirping of the birds in the trees outside the window. Minutes passed and still sleep did not claim her, her body tired from the rigours of the ceremony, felt limp, but her mind fogged and impaired, struggled to function and throw off the cloaking calm that had been with her most of the morning.

A slight sound in the corner of the room had her turning her head to see what it was but there was nothing there. She lay staring at the corner from which she had heard the sound and there it was again, a faint rustling of a cloak.

"Who's there?" Hermione asked faintly.

For a moment there was no sound, and then suddenly a figure appeared from nowhere; tall, hook-nosed, greasy-haired, Professor Snape stood looking back at her.

"Prof…."

"We have very little time," he interrupted, striding over to her and yanking the sheets of her, "Come on now, I can't be certain when Narcissa or Lucius may come back."

He thrust something into her limp hand and glanced at his watch, "Three, two, one!"

Instantly, she was lifted from the bed as a hook was jerked behind her navel. She thought she heard a scream, but then a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds was rushing past her and the cold air stinging her body through the flimsy nightdress drowned out everything else. Her hand was clutched around whatever it was Snape had put into it and a moment later she hit a solid stone floor and felt her feet give way from beneath her. She hit the floor with a dull thud and knew no more

XoXoXoXo

"Dumbledore, we need to get hold of Dumbledore and fast!"

There were voices, so many of them whispering as Hermione lay there trying to make sense of it all. Where was she? She could hear Mrs Weasley's voice, sharp and fearful, "Oh Merlin, what has happened?"

"Mum, is she ok? Hermione?"

"Shhh, Ginny, she'll be fine, just knocked out by her fall I imagine." Mrs Weasley said in an effort to convince her daughter.

"But where was she?" This was Ron's voice, anxious in its intensity.

"If we knew that, we wouldn't have been so worried, now would we? Oh not again! Remus would you see who that is?" Mrs Weasley's voice sounded almost hysterical now. Hermione wondered vaguely if she was in the Burrow.

The sound of a doorbell clanging somewhere in the distance put pay to this theory. Only one place she knew had such a clanging doorbell, she was in Grimauld Place. She could hear hurried footsteps going to answer the loudly clanging bell. In a moment, however, the footsteps returned, accompanied by another set of footfalls, sharp and rapid.

"Dumbledore, has he been summoned?" Snape's voice broke into the silence.

"Yes," this was Lupin's voice, "and Quentin Trimble too."

"Good. Right, the antidote. I need the antidote."

"Antidote?" came Harry's voice, hesitant and frightened, "Professor, what antidote?"

"An antidote to help Miss Granger, you stupid boy! Now move out of my way. The rest of you leave Miss Granger be. The antidote won't be ready for a while yet, and I don't want her disturbed. Molly, I suggest you put the girl to bed, her body needs the rest!"

"Yes, of course!" Mrs Weasley said. "Ron, could you and Harry…"

There was no need for her to finish her sentence, arms lifted Hermione off the floor and she was hoisted over someone's shoulder. She was carried swiftly up the stairs into one of the bedrooms and deposited onto a bed.

"Right you two, out!"

"But mum…."

"Mrs Weasley, we…" Ron and Harry's voices pleaded.

"I said out!" Mrs Weasley repeated, and grumbling quietly, Ron and Harry exited the room. Hermione, in spite of herself smiled.

"Mum, is she ok?" came Ginny's frightened voice, "she's so pale."

"I don't …I don't know," came the faint, tear-clogged reply. "Come on, let's make her as comfortable as possible, and then hopefully she'll fall a sleep. Soon Professor Snape will have the antidote ready, and then I'm sure she'll be all right." Mrs Weasley sounded as though she was trying to comfort herself, rather than her daughter.

Hermione felt herself being once more tucked into bed, but this time the sheets, rather than being made of satin, comprised of scratchy cotton.

"Stay with her, I need to speak to Remus. I'll tell the boys not to disturb you; I don't want Hermione to be alone."

"Of course," Ginny replied, and Hermione could hear the tremble in her voice.

Mrs Weasley left the room and with a soft click, the door shut behind her, leaving Hermione and Ginny alone.

"I know you're awake," Ginny said, seating herself on Hermione's bed, "Are you ok?" She leaned over and took Hermione's hand in her own as she spoke, squeezing it tightly.

"Yes," Hermione answered faintly, "just tired, so tired and weary."

"Well, you can rest now, and don't worry about a thing; you know this is one of the safest places anywhere," Ginny reassured.

"Yes, good," Hermione muttered, "I… a lot has happened…"

"It's ok," Ginny soothed, "you can tell me later, honestly, just rest now."

Hermione nodded, and as she did so, a wave of tiredness engulfed her and she fell asleep, Ginny sitting beside her, clutching her hand tightly.

XoXoXoXo

Hermione awoke a few hours later. Opening her eyes she saw to her relief that Ginny was still sitting beside her bed reading a book. As Hermione stirred however, she hastily put her book down and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Hermione answered groggily.

"I'll call Professor Snape and the others, they wanted me to let them know when you woke up, I think Snape has the antidote ready." So saying she got up and hurried from the room. In a moment, however, she was back, followed by a number of people whose faces Hermione could not distinguish.

"Open your mouth, Miss Granger," Snape instructed and obediently Hermione did so. Snape raising a vial, poured its contents into her mouth and she spluttered, while swallowing the foul tasting concoction.

"Was there any need for all of it?" came a familiar surly voice.

"Yes, I don't know how much of the stuff they gave her, and I don't want to take any chances."

Hermione lay quietly grimacing at the after taste the potion had left. Then as though a barrier was being removed, she felt the feeling of calm that she had been experiencing all day, start to lift. The fuzziness that had made it so difficult to think was dispersing and the pain that had been plaguing her temples start to ebb away. She found that she could think more clearly and her mind, which had been suppressed for so long was finally free!

"Ah, it is working," Quentin's voice said as the fuzziness was now gone completely. Hermione began to fit the pieces of the events of the last few hours together. Her eyes widened in horror as the memories resurfaced in her mind, and sitting bolt upright in bed, she opened her mouth and let out a high pitched scream.

She couldn't help herself, she screamed again and again as she realised that thanks to the Malfoys, she was no longer a single woman, but one who was tied for life to someone who right now she hated.

"Noooooo," she screamed, "Noooo, please noooo!"

Tears started pouring from her eyes, splashing down her face as she reflected on the horror of what she had gone through. She was aware of burying her face in Ginny's shoulder and sobbing, as the enormity of what had happened hit her like a tone of bricks.

"Oh god, nooo, it can't be!" she sobbed as Ginny sat stunned, helplessly watching her best friend.

Finally Hermione could scream and cry no more, she lay against Ginny, spent and empty, and the people around her gathered closer in support.

"Oh Hermione," Quentin said, pulling her away from Ginny and hugging her himself, "I am so sorry,…" he fell silent as he knew words could not adequately convey his feelings.

"Hermione, there is no need…." Dumbledore began, patting her shoulder, but Hermione lifting her head from Quentin's shoulder glared angrily at him. The despair that had overwhelmed her earlier was turning into anger before the very person who had advised her to "play along with the Malfoys".

"I think you Professor, have made more than enough false promises for one day, don't you?" She could feel hatred coursing through her as she spoke.

"Miss Granger, will it make you feel any better to know that Draco Malfoy was also under the influence of the Emperius potion?" Snape asked.

"No, it won't," she snarled back.

"I would like to talk to Hermione alone," Quentin broke in, "the rest of you, please leave us!"

"Be reasonable Quentin—" Dumbledore started, but Quentin cut him off.

"But she'll need the support of another woman-" Mrs Weasley protested as Ginny nodded in agreement.

"I need to talk to Hermione alone!" he repeated. Reluctantly, everyone else left the room and finally they were alone.

"Quentin, I—" Hermione started.

"It's ok," he said quietly, "in your position I wouldn't feel any different. All I ask is that you try and see the bigger picture here. I would do anything to undo what has happened, but Dumbledore would insist…."

"That's the problem," Hermione hissed back, "Dumbledore and the Order's insistence. Tell me, did you agree with them that I should stay put when I contacted Dumbledore this morning?"

There was a pause and then Quentin, taking hold of her chin forced her to meet his gaze, "I knew nothing of it until I was summoned here by Remus Lupin three hours ago. Had I known, I would have done everything in my power to get you out of there." Looking into his eyes, Hermione could not doubt the sincerity of his words and finally she looked away.

"Why didn't they tell you?" she asked.

"Because they knew how I would react. Albus Dumbledore is a wise old man. In nine cases out of ten, he can accurately predict what people are going to do, which makes him such a good strategist. There are times however when even he is wrong…"

"And other people have to pay the consequences," Hermione finished bitterly for him, as she pulled her knees up to her chin. With a sigh, she asked, "So who knew of my whereabouts?"

Quentin sighed, "Most of the Order knew that you were involved in a top security mission. What that was, they didn't know."

"So people like Ron and Harry knew that I was in danger then?"

"Yes." Now Quentin wasn't looking at her, preferring to stare at the claw-footed wardrobe in the corner of the room.

"I see," Hermione replied quietly.

There was a knock on the door, and getting up Quentin went to open it.

"Can we see Hermione?" Harry's voice asked from the corridor outside.

"Let them in," Hermione told Quentin calmly.

Stepping aside, Quentin opened the door wide and Ron and Harry entered the room and seated themselves on Hermione's bed.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me, Hermione," Quentin said before leaving the room.

"Are you ok Hermione?" Ron asked, looking closely at her. "You're so pale."

"Would you be ok if you had been administered a potion to suppress your mind and then forced to marry Draco Malfoy?"

"Remus's just told us," Harry spoke quietly, "Hermione I'm sorry, but look, it isn't the end of the world. The Malfoys'll never find you here, Dumbledore's seen to that, so you're ok."

"And how about the times when I may want to leave this place? What then? How about when I start at Stanwick?" she asked, looking Harry straight in the eye.

"Well, I'm sure we can work around it. All I'm saying is that please don't lose heart. Remus and Tonks are looking into whether the marriage can be annulled, but failing this, we'll think of something else," Ron attempted to reassure, trying to give her a hug but she pulled away.

"Well, how blessed I really am!" she said sarcastically, "you know I'm just realising something, which if I'd been less blind, I'd have realised a long while back. In your own way, the Order has used me as much as the Malfoys."

"Now look here!" Ron gasped, turning to her, "I know you're upset and everything, but Hermione, you're unharmed! So what's there to worry about? The Order'll protect you, Harry and me would give our lives to protect you, you know that!"

"Well that didn't do me much good earlier, now did it?" she sneered, feeling a savage pleasure to see them squirm.

"Look," Harry started, "no one's saying for a moment that what happened to you was good, far from it. All that we're saying is that it doesn't have to be as bad as you think. I know it seems like the end of the world at the moment, but it'll get better."

"Thanks for the worldly advice. Tell me Harry, how'd you like it if you'd been forced to marry someone like Pansy Parkinson?"

"Well, it wouldn't be very nice, but I'd cope with it."

The unconvinced look on Harry's face belied his words, and Hermione just laughed bitterly.

"Neither of you went through that ceremony," she said quietly, "you didn't witness the amount of magic – not wand magic but the primal stuff that resides in the elements that was used to bind me to him."

"No, but as I said before," Ron started, "Remus and Tonks…."

"Ron, I don't know how I can put this more plainly – the binding was not a simple signing of the Ministry's wedding registry. The Malfoys used the Elements! The bonding simply cannot be undone!" she explained, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Please leave me now."

"But Hermione we—" Harry started in a choked voice, but she cut him off.

"You heard me Harry, please leave, both of you."

Reluctantly, the duo got to their feet. Although they shot her pleading looks, Hermione ignored them, as they left the room.

Hermione got up and walked over to the window and looked down. The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, and below her, some children played on the weed-strewn grass in the middle of the square in front of Grimauld Place. There was nothing to see but a few dustbins bulging with rubbish. Her mind, however, was in turmoil; no one apart from perhaps Quentin, understood what she had been through, or how it felt to be tied to someone you disliked. What made it worse was that she had no choice in the matter. She needed to do some serious thinking, to revaluate her life and all those in it. Today had been a real eye opener for her, and she was damned if she would let things lie because it suited the Order.

Authors Note: The words used in the marriage ceremony were taken from with a few tucks and tweaks by me.


	16. Chapter 15

Authors Note: Finally the last chapter is done. Thanks as always to my beta and all those of you who leave me such encouraging reviews. I am toying with the idea of an epilogue from Draco Malfoy's point of view to round the story off, but it depends on you my readers. If you would like me to write one, let me know and I'll do the honours. As you all most likely know, the disclaimer hasn't moved from the prologue.

Chapter 15

The house was quiet, only the sounds of the gurgling pipes intruded on the stillness that had descended on it like a shroud. Even the portrait of Mrs Black was silent, in itself an unusual occurrence. Outside, the sighing of the wind as it rustled through the branches of the trees was blocked out by the thick stone walls of the house. The room was dark; shadows flitted here and there giving the impression of movement where there was none.

Hermione uncurled herself from beneath the sheets of her bed and sat up. She had been lying here for the last few hours not quite asleep, but now that she was sure that the inhabitants of the house were in bed, she was able to get up. She stood up trying not to wince as her joints protested loudly at the sudden enforced activity. Glancing quickly across the room to Ginny's bed, she was relieved that its occupant didn't stir. She gazed for a moment at the still figure lying curled on her side beneath the sheets, her red hair creating a splash of colour against the crisp white of the pillow case. Hermione envied the other girl her untroubled dreams, dreams which were undisturbed by visions of wizards force-feeding her a potion before making her participate in a marriage to someone whom she hardly knew.

Turning to squint at the clock on the wall, she could make out that it was 3:30 in the morning. She had lost count of the number of hours she had been lying in bed feigning sleep so as not to have to talk to the other occupants of the house. She must have dozed off for the last time she had taken a quick peek at the clock; it had been 11:15 and Ginny had just got into bed.

Hermione winced as her empty stomach let out a growl – oh how she was hungry. By her estimations, it had been well over twenty-four hours since she had last eaten, and the effects were starting to catch up with her.

Pulling herself together, Hermione crept across to the trunk at the foot of her own bed, opened it and extracted a cotton dressing gown which she pulled on over her pyjamas. A few more moments of frantic searching unearthed her slippers, which she gratefully stepped into. She had no wish to wander round this dank old house in her bare feet. She was grateful that Mrs Weasley had had the forethought to apparate to her parent's house and pack some clothes for her earlier during the day.

Grabbing her wand from where it lay on her bedside cabinet, she stared at it for a moment in the dim light of the bedroom. Once again she was grateful, but this time to Snape who had shown more foresight than she would have given him credit for, and had retrieved her wand from Narcissa Malfoy's pocket while she had been busy embracing Hermione and Draco after the completion of the ceremony. Hermione stuffed it along with a quill and parchment into her pocket, and made her cautious way over to the door, which she pulled open. Slipping through, she made her silent way down the stairs, thankful that the shrunken heads of Kreacher's ancestors had been removed, through the eerie hall, and down the basement stairs to the kitchen.

Pushing open the door, she was relieved to see that it was empty. Crossing the high-ceilinged cold room, she pulled open the pantry door and started looking along the shelves just as her stomach gave another growl of protest. She had only a vague idea of when she had last eaten, but she was determined to fill her grumbling stomach before doing anything else. She had a lot of planning to do and an empty stomach would not help her accomplish anything.

Finally, she was seated at the table, with a piece of cold chicken and ham pie, no doubt left over from the evening's meal, plus a large mug of hot chocolate set before her. As she ate, her brain, slowly fortified by the food, began to plan and strategise. Finishing the slice of pie, Hermione frowned when her stomach clearly not satisfied, gave another loud growl. Getting up once more, she rummaged in the pantry, bringing out a loaf of bread, some cheese and butter. As she made herself a large cheese sandwich, she marvelled at her body's ability to demand food at a time like this. Soon she was back at the table munching her way through the bread and cheese, her brain working frantically now it was being supplied with energy. The kitchen clock glared down at her, displaying the message 'Too early to be up' in large red letters, but Hermione ignored it. Soon the quill she had grabbed was out and she was busily scribbling notes as she devoured the food before her.

Brushing the breadcrumbs from the front of her dressing gown, she looked down her list and smiled grimly to herself. It was the only way, she thought detachedly, rolling up the parchment and putting it into her pocket. Now all she had to do was to bide her time until Quentin paid a visit to the house. Then with any luck, she could put her plan into action. She looked round the large chilly kitchen and thought grimly to herself that this house would be one place she would be glad to see the last of. Although Grimauld Place had undergone a thorough cleaning and some fresh paint in a few rooms since the Order had made it its headquarters, it still held vestiges of the personalities and tastes of those who had lived there in the past.

The sound of the door opening behind her, made Hermione whirl round to see Mrs Weasley entering the room, in slippers and dressing gown.

"Hermione dear," the older woman greeted, as she shut the door behind her, "what are you doing up at this hour?"

Hermione stared inscrutably back at this woman, who for the last seven years of her life, had been a surrogate mother to her in the wizarding world. Now, however, she replied in a remote voice, "I wasn't aware that the kitchen was out of bounds, Mrs Weasley."

"Well, of course not dear, but…" The other woman trailed off at the look on Hermione's face. Then as though coming to a decision, she made her way over to Hermione and with a wave of her wand, replenished the chocolate in Hermione's mug. She didn't speak as she opened a cupboard and brought out a large apple pie from which she deftly cut a large slice, placing it before Hermione. Then pulling out a kitchen chair, she sat down at the table opposite the wide-eyed young woman. Leaning forward across the table she said, "I've no doubt that you are ravenously hungry."

Hermione simply nodded, her mouth too full to speak.

"It's natural," Mrs Weasley carried on quietly, "Our body's way of replenishing all the energy used during the bonding." She watched the quiet, sombre-looking young woman from across the expanse of wood separating them. How she seemed to have aged overnight; the sparkle had gone from her eyes to be replaced with something Mrs Weasley was reluctant to name.

"That explains why I'm so hungry," Hermione said dryly swallowing her mouthful of pie and looking up. With a slightly twisted smile, she went on, "I've been eating continuously for the last fifteen minutes but only now has my stomach stopped protesting."

"Yes, the hunger won't leave you until your body has recovered all its lost energy. Taking into account that the ceremony can only be performed on an empty stomach, it is no wonder you are making up for lost time," Mrs Weasley gabbled, trying not to reveal the nervousness she felt.

"Hmm," Hermione answered absentmindedly.

Mrs Weasley didn't say anything for a moment, and then evidently deciding to take the bull by the horns, she said, "Hermione, I cannot pretend to understand what you're going through right now. I remember as though it were yesterday the effect of the magic that was used to bind Arthur and me during our wedding ceremony. It was… well, it was elemental… and extremely powerful and I'll never forget the after-effects – that that was with me being a willing participant of the ceremony. I cannot even begin to imagine what it must feel like with you forced into such a ceremony. Believe me, if I'd known of the danger you were in, I would have insisted you be taken from that Manor then and there."

Hermione, stifling a mirthless laugh, shrugged. "But Mrs Weasley I wasn't taken away from the Manor," she looked at the older woman over the rim of her cup of hot chocolate. "And I _was_ forced to go through the wedding ceremony," she put her cup down onto the table with deliberate calm, "so I suppose there's little point in rehashing the 'buts' and 'ifs' of the matter." She looked pointedly at Mrs Weasley, a harsh half-smile on her countenance. She would be damned if she was going to make this easy on any of them.

"What I'm trying to say," the other woman struggled on valiantly, "is that we're looking into ways to see how it can be undone and—"

"Mrs Weasley, you know as well as I do that the only way the ceremony can be undone is through death; or is the phrase _'for as long as they both shall live'_ just mere words in the ceremony?" Hermione asked coolly, draining her mug and placing it on the table before her in that deliberate manner that was beginning to worry Mrs Weasley. Hermione gave the older woman a sigh and another half-smile, "I'm sure we are both aware, Mrs Weasley, looking for 'a way it can be undone' is the Order's way of allaying their consciences."

"Would you like any more pie?" Mrs Weasley ignored Hermione's dig, determined to reason with the young woman with her mothering.

Hermione nodded and helped herself to another slice although she was not so easily distracted. "Frankly, Mrs Weasley, the only way 'it can be undone' is if I'm prepared to end my own life, which I assure you I'm not—" another mocking sigh, "—I'll just have to learn to live with the consequences of the Order's mistakes."

"Now really!" the other woman exclaimed heatedly, getting fed up with Hermione's aloofness, "There's no need to take that tone, young lady. No one knew what would happen; do you really think we would've let you stay in that place knowing what the Malfoys' plans were for you?"

Hermione didn't answer. She took a large bite of the crusty apple pie instead.

"As I said before," Mrs Weasley went on in a more gentle voice, "all that has happened has been an unfortunate—" she wanted to say 'mistake' but felt awkward naming it as such; "—it's _unfortunate_ that what has happened has happened, Hermione. Nonetheless, all is not lost! I promise you, we'll do all in our power to rectify the situation, and Hermione, you must understand that what happened to you isn't a matter of life and death! After all, thanks be to Merlin, you're still alive and well – and surely that's all that matters? The Order _did_ rescue you from the Malfoys in the end, so shouldn't that count for something?" A slight note of pleading had entered her voice, but Hermione still didn't look up from her plate, causing the other woman to grip the edge of the table nervously.

"I suppose that depends," she finally replied in a calm voice

"What do you mean?" Mrs Weasley asked, endeavouring to keep her voice on an even keel, "Hermione _please_, you're not thinking of doing anything silly now—"

"Oh no, Mrs Weasley, have no fear. I've no intentions of ending my own life – it means far too much to me," Hermione shook her head, her mocking tone making the other woman wince. "One could say that yesterday the veil was ripped from my eyes and I saw things for what they really were. If I'd had any sense, I would've realised earlier the way the wind was blowing, but no," she looked blankly ahead of her, "being the naïve innocent I was, I didn't realise it until it was too late." Shaking her head, she added with a mirthless laugh, "You could say that this unfortunate situation was all my own fault for being too trusting."

Misinterpreting Hermione's words, the older woman shook her head, "I know how you feel, my dear but really, you can't blame yourself. The Malfoys have always been rotten to the core, but they have money and charm, so it's not difficult to see how easy it would be for them to gain your trust. Although," Mrs Weasley's eyes hardened, "this time they really have gone too far! Entrapping a young girl into marriage! How they managed to arrange the ceremony so swiftly is beyond me."

Leaning back in her chair, Hermione's eyes narrowed at the other woman, anger starting to boil up within her. She marvelled at the easy way Mrs Weasley had subjugated her own conscience, and was glad of the plan that had formed in her mind. "Oh no, Mrs Weasley," Hermione said in a deceptively silky voice trying hard to keep her anger under wraps, "It isn't the Malfoys who have deceived me. On the contrary, the Malfoys are the only ones in this who acted with any honesty. At least, they never pretended to be looking out for anyone's interests other than their own. No, it was the Order who have betrayed me. And this, Mrs Weasley, is the important lesson that I have learned in the last twenty-four hours, the lesson learnt as the result of my foolish naivety. We both know, don't we, that I was the Order's bait to lure the Malfoys? Did it matter at all what my feelings were regarding my role as bait? No – my feelings in the matter be damned! What about my reservations regarding this manner of 'fact-finding'? Was it even taken into account? Not at all! What really makes me laugh is the fact that I was sacrificed, but to what purpose? The Order hasn't found out any more of Voldemort's plans through me, so it was all a waste of time!"

There was a ringing silence as Hermione finished speaking and Mrs Weasley stared across at her speechless. Hermione simply shrugged as she sat watching the older woman's expression. She knew she was beyond hurt now, anger had settled in her stomach like a stone. She dimly recognised that her anger was no longer passionate, but detached and cold. Only once before had she been anywhere near this angry, and that had been when she had caught Tom Angers, her boyfriend of the previous year, cheating on her. Then, choosing to simply smile coolly and saying nothing instead of ranting and raving, Hermione's swiftly penned letter to his parents had soon ensured payback. A week later, Tom received an unexpected howler from his mother which had shouted for the whole school to hear how he had bought shame on the family by his dishonesty in cheating on the best thing that had ever happened to him. With the howler's message still ringing in his ears, the once popular Ravenclaw soon found that people were looking at him with new eyes, and girls who had previously hung on his every word, were now giving the two-timer a wide berth. This time however, Hermione reflected, she had no recourse of parents to appeal to, nor high drama to ensure payback. Nonetheless, she would be certain to react in a way to ensure that she was protected, and if a few people got a taste of their own medicine along the way, so much the better.

"Hermione please," Mrs Weasley sighed, "I know you're feeling less than charitable right now, but you must understand that—"

Hermione, not wanting to hear anymore, pushed back her chair. Tamping down her anger, she smiled coolly at the woman opposite her and got to her feet.

"If you'll excuse me, Mrs Weasley," she said with cold politeness, "I think I'll try and get a few more hours sleep before breakfast."

"Yes… yes, of course dear," a subdued Mrs Weasley nodded getting up too.

XoXoXoXo

Shifting her position, Hermione stared out of the window of the large and dank drawing room and sighed with relief. Finally, he was here. She waited until the front door far below her had been opened and Quentin had stepped into the house before turning away. She hadn't long to wait. Soon the sound of swift footsteps could be heard on the stairs and she smiled as the drawing room door was pushed open and Quentin stepped in.

"Hermione, Ginny told me you were in here – she said you wanted a word," he said, coming into the room and closing the door.

Hermione saw with a slight pang that his eyes were shadowed with fatigue.

"Yes, thanks for coming." She smiled a real smile for the first time that day, "There's a lot I would like to discuss with you."

Quentin seated himself on one of the large sofas in the room and waited until Hermione had done the same, before pulling out his wand and waving it round the room. Hermione knew that he had performed the dome of silence – now no one could eavesdrop on their conversation.

"So how are you?" he asked in his no nonsense way.

"Bearing up," she replied, "the first shock's worn off, but Quentin," here she hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out, "I want out."

"Pardon?" he asked, raising dark brows in enquiry while making himself comfortable on the sofa.

Not knowing if he had simply not heard her or was trying to buy some time, Hermione repeated slowly and carefully, "I want out. That is, I want to leave the wizarding world."

Quentin was silent for a moment and then sighed, "I thought as much. You have endured more in the past few days than most wizards do in a lifetime – it makes sense that you want to get away from it all for a while." He ran a weary hand over his face as he spoke.

"No, Quentin you don't understand, "Hermione explained, leaning forward, "I want to get away from all this," she waved a vague hand at the room around her, "I've had more than I can take of the wizarding world and I want to get away from it all. Everything. Besides, realistically, even if I wanted them to, the Order couldn't keep me hidden forever from the likes of the Malfoys. As things have turned out, I want nothing to do with either the Order or the Malfoys from now onwards."

Quentin shook his head, the vehemence of her words finally sinking in. He said nothing for a moment, his eyes fixed on the empty fire grate while he digested Hermione's news. "I'm sure you've given this a lot of thought," he said pensively, "but Hermione, think of what you'll be giving up by leaving the wizarding world – a career for which you have worked hard, and to which you are well suited, friends—"

Hermione interrupted him with a snort, "Quentin. Honestly, we both know that my career such as it is, is now out of the question. I can never attend Stanwick – the Malfoys'll track me down in a heartbeat. And as for my so-called friends... well, I'm sorry to say that as far as I'm concerned, I no longer have many of them in the wizarding world. Those whom I once considered friends have turned out to be no more than Dumbledore's puppets!" Disgust laced her last words.

Quentin returned her level stare. "Hermione, that isn't quite true," he countered quietly. "Dumbledore and I are currently not on speaking terms for I cannot forgive him for knowingly putting you in danger like that. Having got to know you very well this past year or so, I think of you as my own. I can't forgive myself for not having done more to protect you; and I can't simply forgive those who knew what was at stake but still saw fit to let you stay on at Malfoy Manor while knowing the risks involved."

"I know you did everything in your power to protect me," Hermione gave him a conciliatory smile. "And I don't blame you for what happened. But Quentin, I need your help now! I can't leave this place by myself and you're the only person I can fully trust."

"What about Harry, Ron and Ginny? I thought they were your closest friends," Quentin frowned in puzzlement. "I'm positive they didn't know about the plan – and they would have done anything to get you out of it, I'm sure. Leaving the wizarding world would mean leaving them behind as well," he reasoned almost desperately.

Hermione looked down at her hands. "Yes… I know that, but," her brow furrowed in thought, "this is really difficult for me to explain," she sighed. "You see, when they found out about the marriage, all they could do was to tell me that it wasn't the end of the world! I tried explaining the magic used during that ceremony but they were convinced that I was blowing the whole thing out of proportion. I would've thought… I would've thought that Ron and Ginny, with their magical upbringing would have at least understood the gravity of the ceremony, but no. I was basically told to stop moaning and get on with my life," she bit her lip, hurt at her friends' reactions. "Oh they didn't say it in so many words, but the meaning behind Ron and Harry's sighs was perfectly clear. It didn't help at all that they reminded me that it was done for the Order! As if that made everything I had gone through fine and dandy! That was simply the last straw." She couldn't forget the absurd promises her friends had made when they had tried to console her; when their promises of revenge hadn't work to get her out of her agitated state, they had become frustrated and told her to "grow up and be thankful she was alive to tell the story." It did not help for Ron or Harry to recount their adventures thus far, comparing the dangers they had undergone with the relatively 'safer' fate that Hermione had endured. Ginny had tried to comfort her but she, like the others had not understood at all what Hermione had had to undergo.

Once Hermione had exhausted her tirade, Quentin spoke up. "Hermione, you must understand that the ceremony that was performed is an ancient one, and very, very rarely used nowadays. What is done though, even for traditionalists, is a… simplified form of what you had gone through… a modified ceremony, which puts far less strain on the couple than what you and Draco Malfoy went through. Needless to say," he gave her a quick smile, "having to spend a few days recuperating from one's wedding is off-putting to many who would rather spend their time on their honeymoon." Fascinated by Quentin's explanation of the wizarding traditions, Hermione nodded as Quentin continued, "The less traditional wizards have even done away with the modified ceremony altogether. Just a quick trip to the Registry office, where the ceremony is much like the muggle one. Of course, there is some wand waving to make the magical contract… erm, marriage certificate, binding, but nothing in the league of what you experienced. Elemental magic was used to bind you and Draco Malfoy together – powerful magic, that. I doubt that anyone who hasn't actually witnessed such a ceremony will ever understand the power that is involved. The only thing I'm thankful for is that Severus Snape got you away from there when he did. If he hadn't…" he shook his head, a serious look settling on his countenance.

"What would have happened?" Hermione asked, leaning forward with interest.

"The 'consummation charm' would have been activated. The spell increases the couple's desire for one and other until they finally give in; not only that, it prevents them from moving more than twenty paces from each other, until the marriage is consummated. I can only be thankful that you weren't forced to consummate the marriage – once that has taken place, the bond between the couple is sealed." He gave a chuckle, "I can almost imagine the look on Lucius Malfoy's face when he realised that you'd gone when you did."

"I don't understand," Hermione frowned, "Wasn't the ceremony enough to bind a couple for a lifetime? And wouldn't consummation be difficult to take place with the severe drain of energy?" She lifted her brows as she added, "I couldn't even move a muscle, much less walk twenty paces."

Quentin pursed his lips. "The consummation charm is the natural outcome to the ceremony – not that the other spells aren't activated during the ceremony itself; believe me, they are. Essentially, the spells activated by the main ceremony – the _witnessed_ ceremony – are those that ensured the couple remain loyal to each other. Inherent in the many blessing spells are protection spells such that the couple always know when the other is in danger… or doing something they shouldn't." In spite of the gravity of the situation, he grinned. "I could tell you a tale or two about that… but I won't. The consummation charm… well, it's not really a charm as much as a result of the main ceremony; the couple are separated for an hour after the main ceremony so that they can recuperate from the massive magic expended, then they're placed within twenty feet of each other for the charm to activate. Consummation need not be immediate, but the desire for it starts building up from then on. And, like I said, the couple can't move twenty paces away from the other, which is not a difficult thing to circumvent, seeing as how most couples would be put into a honeymoon suite for a week and be attended by House-Elves. Once the couple's energy level is replaced… well…" he shrugged, and Hermione understood exactly what would happen.

"Anyway," Quentin added, "as I've said, very few people actually bother with the traditional ceremony nowadays. Not only does the ceremony requires so much from the participants in terms of preparation and a drain on their magical energy, there's simply a lack of time for most modern couples to consider spending a week locked up in a room – and as to the cost of getting House Elf service! Well, that is quite another wedding item to consider. And with the traditional ceremony, more expenditure in the form of ceremonial garments and a banquet for all the guests… well it isn't so surprising that your friends can't comprehend what is involved; modern weddings by comparison are much less of a hassle."

Hermione brushed that aside, and in pursuit of more understanding of the ceremony she had gone through, she asked, "Fine, whatever. But I still don't quite understand how the consummation charm works, Quentin; but now can't I get out of this union between me and Draco Malfoy? Since we didn't consummate the wedding, does this mean—?"

"No, Hermione," Quentin shook his head grimly, "it doesn't mean that the wedding did not take place, nor does it mean that the ceremony can be reversed. With consummation, other spells are activated, and the marriage is… well, the word translated from the Ancients loosely means 'perfected'."

Frustrated that even that sliver of hope was taken away, Hermione bit out, "Perfected? At this moment, I can only be thankful that I can still make an escape; go into hiding. Can't you see why I can't stay here?" She gestured at herself as she pleaded, "I can't live like this; I can't trust the Order would keep the Malfoys at bay. I can't and I won't have the Malfoys complete the ceremony and make me one of them. I won't!"

"Yes, but Hermione, leaving the wizarding world is at best a temporary solution and nothing more. I hope you're aware of this," Quentin attempted to reason.

"Look Quentin, all I want right now is to get away from here, from wizards. One day maybe when I'm feeling stronger, I'll face facts and then maybe do something about it. At the moment, I want to make my life in the muggle world," she said determinedly, "to build myself a muggle career and—"

"Never be able to enjoy the company of a man?" Quentin interrupted innocently.

"Right now, I would be happy to curse all men to kingdom come." Hermione retorted heatedly.

"Fair enough," Quentin tried but failed to stifle a smile, "By the sounds of it, your mind is made up, and nothing I can say will change it."

"No, it won't," Hermione said in relief.

He nodded and Hermione swiftly outlined her plans to him leaving nothing out.

After she had finished speaking, Quentin sat thoughtfully watching her. "You have thought of everything, have you not?" he smiled. "I don't foresee a problem in performing the Fidelius charm on you. I would be happy to be your secret-keeper, and for extra protection, will even take a wand oath that I will always ask your permission before informing someone of your whereabouts. Perhaps you might want to consider putting a Detracement charm on yourself – it will ensure that people can't perform tracking charms on you. As for the forged documents you will need," he grinned, "they won't be a problem in the least."

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding in.

"It's unfortunate that the news about the kidnapping of the Malfoy bride is all over the Daily Prophet – the wizarding public has been notified to keep a lookout for you. No matter; we'll just have to work around that problem, agreed?"

Hermione nodded.

"Fine. I'll first need to pay a visit to your grandmother's old cottage in Somerset; Anti-apparation wards will have to be put into place and the cottage will have to be secured. Fortunately, I was party to putting some of the wards in here," he gestured vaguely at Grimauld Place, "so I'll just put most of the same ones up in your new home," he grinned. "Other than your immediate family and myself, is there anyone else you might want to keep in touch with or allow access to your cottage?"

"No," Hermione shook her head emphatically, "there isn't anyone else."

"Right then, there's plenty to do, so I must get going," he was all briskness as he got to his feet. "But first things first, Hermione; the Detracement charm. It's better if I cast the charm on you rather than you doing so yourself. And if you don't mind, I want to use your wand to cast it." Hermione got up and handed him her wand as he explained, "Thanks. It's not that I can't use my wand, but the magic given off by your wand will protect you much more effectively than with any other. Add to that a caster whose only aim is to protect you, what you get is a very powerful combination."

Quentin turned Hermione so that her back was to him and started performing a strange sequence of movements, which looked like runes to Hermione. She watched fascinated, as he circled her performing the strange runes while all the time frowning in concentration. Then he repeated the same wand movements but this time over her head. Hermione felt as though a light breeze was blowing her curls about. Quentin gestured her to lie down on the sofa facing her and once she had complied, he repeated the wand movements but this time aiming them at the soles of her feet.

Finally he was done, and panting slightly, straightened up. "Thank Merlin that's over," he said, handing her wand back. "Your wand is most certainly powerful. I suspect that it was only cooperating with me because I was putting the protection spell on you."

"Why did you draw those symbols all round me?" Hermione asked interestedly.

"They work like runes and provide a magical barrier round you that will deflect any tracking charms that people may cast on you. That's why I had to ensure that the top of your head and the very soles of your feet were included in the charm."

"Don't clothes matter?" Hermione enquired.

"No, your clothes make no difference to the spell. You can even put on a dress spelled with a tracking charm and it will be deactivated. No, essentially, the Detracement attaches to your person. So now whatever tracking spells have been put on you prior to the Detracement have been deactivated." Giving Hermione a half-smile, he asked, "Would you like to know how many tracking charms there were on your person?"

"You could tell that there were tracking charms during Detracement?" Hermione asked incredulously.

Quentin's smile grew as he appreciated his protégé's avid interest in gaining magical knowledge. "When the Detracement charm is performed, the air around the subject shimmers as the tracking charm is deactivated," he lectured with relish. "You have three tracking charms on you – and I took particular note of them since I was on the look out for them all."

"But where were the charms placed?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

"One was in your hair – no doubt Dumbledore's work. The second one on your back; I'm guessing that was the work of another Order member, but as to who it is, I can't say. The final one—" Quentin raised an eyebrow dramatically, "—is certainly well hidden – on the sole of your right foot. If I had to guess, I'd say that last one was the Malfoys' doing. Clever, really; nine times out of ten, people won't bother to protect the soles of their feet. Not only is placing charms there difficult, the thought of the feet as a placement for charms isn't quite there, if you know what I mean."

Hermione's brows furrowed, but she nodded.

"In this instance, I'm glad I took the precaution of warding even your soles," Quentin continued grimly. "I have also added a charm – a deflection charm – recently developed by a friend of mine. Anyone who tries to follow you will have a difficult time doing so," Quentin's eyes looked amused. "Essentially, what the charm does is to deflect the gaze on the person tailing you, so that they'll loose sight of you."

"Thanks Quentin," Hermione smiled sincerely at Quentin. For the first time that day – that week for that matter, Hermione began feeling a sense of hope and purpose taking root within her.

"Now, Hermione," Quentin gentled his look on the young witch, "I'll have to get going. There's still plenty to do before this day is out. I believe that it'll be safer if you stay here for the time being until I have sorted things out at the Somerset cottage. I will let your parents know of your plans, but I'll leave this as the final thing to do. I've little doubt that the Malfoys will pay them a visit to discover your plans; it seems little point to burden them with knowledge that will be easily obtained through _veritaserum_, even if they can't reveal where you are because of the Fidelius. No, we'll just have the Malfoys think that you've totally cut ties with everyone before contacting your parents again," Quentin said grimly.

"As long as the Malfoys don't hurt them," Hermione began, a note of fear in her voice.

"No," Quentin shook his head. "I doubt even the Malfoys would be that stupid. Lucius Malfoy wants to keep a low profile regarding his Death Eater activities, and getting rid of your parents certainly won't endear him with the public _or_ the Ministry of Magic. How do you think it will look for the Malfoys' muggle in-laws to suddenly disappear along with their muggleborn bride? The suspicion will undoubtedly be cast on the Malfoys. Besides, they need your parents alive – they still need to convince you to return." Quentin now let out a mirthless laugh, "No, if anything, they'll make sure that no harm comes to your family to ensure that they remain blameless of anti-muggle sentiments."

Hermione nodded, considering what Quentin had said.

"I should be back by evening," Quentin continued, consulting his watch. "In the mean time young lady, pack everything you need. I'll check up on your parents to see if the Malfoys have made contact, and make sure that they will be prepared for any future Malfoy visits. Is there anything you need from home?" At Hermione's headshake, Quentin nodded. "Right. I'll tell your mother to pack all your clothes. Once I'm certain that all is safe, we'll make a quick stop at your parents' house."

Hermione sighed. "Thanks very much for this Quentin," she said quietly. "You don't know how much I owe you."

Quentin gave her a curt nod. "We all have different ways of dealing with trauma, Hermione. And since I was unable to prevent you going through the ceremony, helping you deal with it in your own way is the least I could do." With that, Quentin undid the dome of silence and pocketing his wand, left the room.

XoXoXoXo

"But Hermione, you've packed everything that Mum got you from your house. If you aren't going away, why do you need to pack—"

"For the last time Ron," Hermione turned to glare at him, "It's none of your business what I do, so please leave me alone!" She bent once more over the trunk in the pretence of straightening some books lying in the bottom of it.

"Hermione, we're worried about you," Harry began tentatively.

"Well, there's no need to worry Harry," she straightened herself up to address Harry, and then returned to her packing. "As you said yourself last night, I should be _thankful_ I'm not dead and am able to recount what happened to me." Lowering the lid on the trunk, she turned to face Harry coolly.

A dark flush spread across Harry's cheeks, but Ginny, sitting on her bed watching proceedings, now spoke up. "Hermione you may not be dead, but you've suffered a lot in the past few days. We're only trying to help – after all, what are friends for?" Her voice seemed unnaturally high in the quiet room.

"Friends," Hermione flared, "respect you enough to leave you be when you ask them to do so." She now looked at all three, her impatience getting the better of her. Why couldn't they see she wanted to be left alone?

"We were only—" Ron broke off as the sound of the doorbell chimed through the house. Hermione smiled grimly as she shrunk her trunk and put it into her pocket. Then, pushing past Harry and Ron, she pulled open the door to the room she and Ginny had shared and stuck her head out. She peered over the banisters to see Quentin stepping over the threshold into the house.

Quickly, Hermione made her way down the creaking stairs and with a welcoming smile, met him in the hall.

"Ready?" Quentin asked with an answering smile.

She could only guess that this meant that all had gone according to plan.

"Where's Hermione going?" Ron, Harry and Ginny had reached them and stood behind Hermione. They were all wearing looks of worry, tinged with desperation.

"I'm taking Hermione to visit her parents," Quentin answered Harry's question. "We thought it may be good for Hermione to get away from Grimauld Place for a while."

"Oh right," Ron nodded. "Yeah sure. Hermione, if we'd known that was where you were going, we wouldn't have pestered you like that." He smiled at her in relief, but she did not respond.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Ginny stepped forward to stand beside Hermione.

Hermione, who had had more than enough of the three of them alternatively coddling her and counselling her to get over her problem, shrugged. "I really don't think there's a need, Ginny. Quentin is perfectly capable of taking care of things in case trouble comes along."

"Well, if you're sure, dear," an anxious Mrs Weasley appeared from beside the front door where she had been hovering, "I'm sure that seeing your parents for a while will do you good." She was tactful enough not to ask how long Hermione intended to stay with her parents.

"If you're ready Hermione," Quentin nodded at the rest of the group before taking her arm.

Hermione turned to face her three friends. Looking at each in turn, she said nothing as she braced herself for what she was about to do. Her eyes travelled slowly over each familiar face and she wondered with a pang when or if she would ever see them again. For a moment, she felt doubt over take her; what if she was making a serious mistake? What if she was merely jumping from the frying pan into the fire – and all without the support of her friends?

Ginny's voice, high-pitched and slightly panicky, pulled her from her concerns, "Hermione, what's really going on? Please Hermione—"

"Now calm down, Ginny," Quentin intervened smoothly, "Hermione is simply going back to live with her parents for a while, to try and put behind her what has happened."

"Living with her parents for a while?" Ron questioned, "I mean no disrespect, Hermione, but I don't think your muggle parents would understand what's happened. They won't be able to appreciate why a wizarding marriage is such a big deal – and I don't think they'll be able to do anything about your situation."

"And you do Ron?" Hermione bit out, eyes narrowed, all doubt as to what she was going to do vanishing in an instant.

"Of course," he nodded earnestly. "I mean, naturally, getting married to a slime bag like Malfoy can't be counted as a high point in your life, but I'm sure Tonks and Lupin will be able to find out how to annul it. Besides, you'll be well protected from that slimy creep if you remain here – Grimauld Place's unplottable!" he stated the obvious.

Quickly forestalling Hermione's remarks, Quentin interrupted; "It's only a quick visit. I'm sure Hermione will be quite safe at her parents – I've been there to ward the house."

Not giving Harry, Ginny or Ron another chance to object or even to say goodbye, Quentin pulled open the front door and led Hermione down the front steps of the house.

"Here," he said, as they stepped on to the pavement. He threw a silvery invisibility cloak over Hermione, "We can't be too careful."

Taking the arm Hermione gave him, he guided her over the rough uneven paving stones across the square until they had reached the opening of a dark alley way.

"Ready?" he asked. At Hermione's verbal agreement, he continued, "I think tandem apparition will be easier; I can't see you, and if we got lost at our end point… well, it's better to avoid that, then." Sliding his hand up to Hermione's shoulders, he Apparated them to appear a second later behind the hedge running along the bottom of the Grangers' garden.

"I hate tandem apparition," Hermione muttered, stumbling as she regained her balance," I've done it once before with—" but here she trailed off, not wanting to complete the thought.

Quentin said nothing as he took her arm once more. They walked in silence around the hedge bordering the Grangers' back garden and around the side of the house.

"The cover story is already in place." Quentin finally broke the silence as they emerged on to the Grangers' drive. "I know it will be difficult, but try and look convincing." He spoke so quietly that Hermione standing beside him was barely able to hear him.

"Right," she said nervously.

They walked up the path to the front door and stood back once Quentin had knocked.

A moment later, the door was pulled open by Peter Granger who smiled on seeing his visitor.

"Ah Quentin, come in. I thought Hermione—"

"If I may," Quentin said, shunting the other man aside and pushing Hermione into the house, before stepping in himself and closing the door. "Hermione is with me, but it wasn't safe to draw attention to her outside the house, where anyone could be watching."

"But…Hermione?" Peter broke off as his daughter, flinging off the invisibility cloak, seemed to materialise from thin air.

She threw herself into her father's arms and hugged him, delighting in the comfort of his familiar presence.

"Hermione!" Lyn cried, coming into the hall and pulling her daughter into a tight hug. "We were worried! That sketchy note you sent the other night wasn't exactly enlightening," she reproved gently, looking into her daughter's pinched face and frowning.

"I'm sorry Mum," Hermione mumbled, wondering what note her mother was talking about. She would have to ask Quentin about it.

"We haven't much time," Quentin said. "Shall we go into the sitting room?"

Soon, Hermione was seated on the comfortable sitting room sofa, a large plate of cakes sitting before her, a mug of hot chocolate steaming beside it. Quentin and her parents were watching her as she leaned forward to help herself to a slice of cake. Mathew sat with the invisibility cloak draped over his lap examining it in fascination.

"So what is this about you changing your career plans, Hermione?" her mother ventured. "I must admit that when Quentin informed us that you had decided to rejoin our world completely, your father and I were very taken aback. We thought you loved the wizarding world and wanted to pursue a career there – why the sudden change of heart?" Lyn's face scrunched up in thought, as she looked into her daughter's pale face.

"Actually, Mum, I've been mulling over it for a while now," Hermione replied evasively. "Honestly, the wizarding world isn't all it's cut out to be. I think… I think before I make such a major decision about a career there, that it would be better if I tried living in the muggle world for a while – at least by doing so, I'll be making an informed decision, right Mum? Besides, I've always wanted to try a career in teaching, and it's one of those careers that has very limited openings in the wizarding world, right Quentin?"

The solemn wizard corroborated Hermione's sentiments with a nod.

"But Hermione," Peter shook his head, frowning, "you don't have any paper qualifications to teach. I mean, to be accepted onto a PGCE course for example, you'd need at least a degree and three A-Levels and I don't see—"

"Ah Peter, that is where a wand helps matters," Quentin gave him a half-smile. "We have all the relevant certificates to prove that after her primary school, Hermione has been home-schooled. She's taken her GCSE's as a private candidate, as well as her 'A'-Levels in the same manner. You'd be please to note that Hermione's taken A-Levels English Literature, English Language, Biology and Geography, and has scored A on all subjects," he grinned. "Naturally," he added ironically, "we expect nothing less from Hermione."

"But if Hermione were home-schooled, I doubt any school would hire her to teach," Lyn objected.

Giving Lyn an enigmatic smile, Quentin replied, "I've considered that. Hermione's resume will include a teaching stint at Godolphin and Latymer School—"

"Godolphin and Latymer?" Lyn interrupted, "But that's where we were planning to send Hermione before we found out about Hogwarts!"

"'Go and Let' kids are all hoity-toity ponces in their hoity-toity uniforms!" Mathew piped up sneering. "You should see Tom's sister; she's like some kind of princess-high-and-mighty; too good to hang out with the rest of us in the neighbourhood." He let out a snort of disgust to emphasise his words.

"That's quite enough Mathew," his mother shot him a reproving look, but Hermione simply shook her head, smiling at her brother. It was nice to know that some things didn't change. "But how is that possible?" Lyn asked Quentin, bringing the discussion back to Quentin's earlier remarks.

"It so happens that I have friends connected to the school. One of them happens to be the school administrator, and another one sits on the Board of Governors. My administrator friend is willing to provide references for Hermione," Quentin gestured to Hermione. "I think that with Godolphin and Latymer's references and Hermione's brilliant A-Level results, most private schools would be clamouring to take her in as a staff member even without a degree. Of course, as an unqualified teacher, the school will want to put her on the Teacher Training Agency's 'Registered Teacher Programme'. It's perfect, of course, as Hermione will have the opportunity to both teach as well as work towards a degree. The programme usually takes two years, but with Hermione's calibre, I won't be surprise if she completes the programme at its minimum of one year," he smiled at the young witch with pride.

Peter frowned, clearly unconvinced. "But there has to be a reason for this sudden change of life plans," he persisted, "Something must have happened for Hermione's change of heart. No," he said, turning to his daughter, "it's not like you to deviate from your plans. I mean, one minute you were all set to start at that wizarding Medical school, and just as you were about to begin classes there, you've done a complete 180 degree turn and want to rejoin the muggle world to become a teacher! It simply doesn't make any logical sense."

Hermione lowered her head and chewed her lower lip.

"Peter," Quentin sighed as he drew Peter's attention away from his daughter, "I think we owe it to you to explain why Hermione has decided on this path. You are quite right in that this is not exactly what Hermione wants." Quentin hesitated, looking at Hermione, who nodded at his unspoken request for permission to speak freely. With another sigh, he continued, "The situation in the wizarding world—" Again, he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "—At the moment, Peter, the climate is… _difficult_… for witches of non-magical descent like Hermione." He paused here, letting the Grangers decipher his cryptic phrasing. "For Hermione's safety, she has decided to totally remove herself from the wizarding world."

Immediately, the Grangers' expressions cleared, only to be replaced with looks of alarm. Both parents were well aware of the prejudiced attitudes of some of Hermione's contemporaries at school, and were perfectly capable of putting two and two together. So, these antiquated attitudes must have escalated to the point that Hermione had to flee from the magical world she fell in love with, to return to living her life without magic – all for the sake of safety!

"You need say no more," Lyn said firmly. "I was afraid that it would come to that. Yes, I agree – best all round if you make your career in the non-magical world Hermione. It's certainly much safer for you here." All business-like now, Lyn took over the discussion with the brisk no-nonsense logic that she employed in expanding her dentistry practice with her husband. "Hermione, Quentin mentioned something about your moving into Grandma Katharine's old cottage. Well, the cottage's a bit run down, but a lick of paint and some care will soon restore it to rights again."

"This cloak thingy," Mathew interrupted, "Can I keep it? It'd be cool to show it off to the boys at school and—"

"No!" Hermione said sharply. "Invisibility cloaks are very rare and valuable. Besides, you know you can't—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know… I can't go around telling people about the magical world," Mathew grumbled. "I was only asking, all right? No need to get your knickers into a twist – blimey!" He huffed, stroking loving fingers over the silvery material of the cloak.

"There's one more thing," Quentin said, looking at the Grangers seated opposite him. "It is possible that wizards, namely Hermione's old friends will approach you to ask what has happened to her, just like the people the Malfoys sent earlier. On no account must you reveal that you are in contact with her. The less people know of her whereabouts, the safer it is for her."

The Grangers looked as though they may interrupt but both thought better of it and simply nodded. Quentin knew that they were aware of Voldemort's existence. It was probably this rather than anything else which ensured their acceptance of the change of plan.

"I still don't like it," Peter muttered, "but it if it means keeping Hermione safe then so be it."

Hermione smiled at him in relief. At least she would not lose contact with her parents. She knew that their support in the upcoming weeks would be crucial to her. The conversation carried on and although Hermione's parents were suspicious as to her motives for wanting to leave the wizarding world so suddenly, neither made any more objections, although the glint in her mother's eyes told her plainer than any word that the moment Lyn got her alone, she would drag the story out of Hermione.

Hermione looked round the large sitting room with its wide screen television and DVD recorder sitting in one corner. A pair of leather sofas sat on each side of the room; the last wall of which contained French windows leading out onto the patio. She smiled, for she had very happy memories of this house and wondered when she could see it again. No doubt it wouldn't be for a while yet.

ZoZoZoZo

"So here we are," Quentin shrugged, his eyes taking in the room in which they stood.

The two of them had departed from Hermione's house with the Grangers promises to visit soon ringing in their ears. Much to Hermione's displeasure, they had tandem Apparated here.

Hermione looked round the small but cosy sitting room and smiled. The cottage was small but quaint in its beauty. A sitting room, kitchen and dining room downstairs, and two bedrooms plus bathroom upstairs meant she would have ample room. The cottage's back garden was rather overgrown, but she was looking forward to taming the rampaging weeds and coaxing the garden back to its former glory.

"Your neighbours are mostly quite old," Quentin said. "I had a look round earlier."

"Oh I don't mind that," Hermione said, smiling slightly. "I don't particularly want much company at the moment. I need to pull myself together before I do anything else, and this seems like just the place. Away from memories and things."

There was a pause in which Hermione moved restlessly round the room looking at the furniture.

"Hermione, there are a few things I need to warn you about," Quentin said earnestly after a moment. "You are well hidden here and it is unlikely anyone will think of looking for you in this little niche of the country. However, there are spells that if activated, will override the secrecy charms as well as the Fidelius charm and bring your husband to you before you can even blink."

Hermione stared at him in puzzlement. " Spells?" she echoed, "What spells?" She turned to face him, putting down the picture she had been examining.

"Remember what I told you about how you are now magically bound in marriage?"

Hermione tilted her head, to which Quentin elaborated. "I did tell you, didn't I, about the protection spells inherent in the blessings spells used in the elemental ceremony? If you should be in mortal danger, your spouse would be immediately summoned. So you must take care of yourself, Hermione."

"Well, seeing as the only time I'd be in mortal danger would be when I'm with the Malfoys, I doubt that that spell would be so easily triggered," Hermione rolled her eyes, lightening the serious tone Quentin used.

"There is another thing," Quentin began, but hesitated. "Well, er… that is… Remember what I said about the ceremony binding the couple in loyalty? Err… well," he took a deep breath and continued, wishing to get this unpleasant but essential news over with, "Your spouse might be summoned if you…err… are unfaithful to him."

"What?" Hermione asked but wasn't surprised at this news. Then another thought reared its unwelcome head and in shock she asked, "You mean, I'll be summoned if he's being unfaithful to me as well?"

"Well, it works both ways."

"So why bother with the Fidelius? I thought the charm protected against all that!" Hermione frowned.

"Well, elemental magic is such that wizards cannot tamper with it," Quentin pursed his lips. "Not that wizards haven't tried – more fools they," his lips curled in amusement.

"So all Draco Malfoy need do is to get into bed with some bimbo and I'm there in the room with him?" Hermione was seriously upset. She could just imagine him doing something like that in order to activate the charm.

"Well, you don't have to obey the summon if you don't wish to. You'll find that the summons can be uncomfortable if ignored, but you'll also learn to recognise the degree to which you are called. Now, I don't know about you, but you're the one in hiding. I suppose you'll be ignoring all that young Malfoy will be up to?" He grinned again, "Believe me, he will try it. I don't know the boy but from what I've heard of him, he is certainly persistent."

Hermione nodded with an eye roll, "Of course. Anyway trust me, I have no intention of sleeping with anyone! He'll just be wating for a summons I bet. The very idea of him popping in would cool any ardour I might have," she gave an unladylike snort.

"One more thing,"Quentin cautioned the young woman who was throwing open the windows of the cottage to air the room. "It is best to keep your wand use to an absolute minimum." Pulling out a wand from his pocket, he handed it to her. "This one's unregistered, so can't be as easily traced. Nonetheless, any magic done will leave a trace, so use this sparingly. If all possible, never use your own wand again. It's linked to the Ministry and far too easily traced."

"I really don't intend to use any magic here," Hermione gave a slightly twisted smile. "This," she held up the unregistered wand, "I'll only use in emergency situations. As for my old wand, I'll put it away somewhere safe. But Quentin, about my parents…I know you told them not to reveal my whereabouts," she worried her lower lip, "but you did say that _veritaserum_ would get it out of them!"

"I have anticipated that, Hermione," he smiled. "I modified their memories – not quite _obliviate_, but have planted a memory that remembers you being in India, in there minds. Your last meeting with them, they remember of course, and so too, will they remember you meeting them even after this. It's just your whereabouts – this cottage – that they have no memory of. I had to do it, Hermione, to protect them against occulumency. They'll just say 'Hermione's in India. We don't know where exactly. She comes and goes on her own schedules.' Their mind's eye would see a map of the sub-continent where they ought to be seeing this cottage."

"But how would that protect my family?" Hermione sighed.

"Don't you get it, child?" Quentin's eyes lit up in amusement. "Try imagining the Malfoys or Dumbledore using that as a lead to pick through the length and breadth of Calcutta to look for you! No, it'll waste too much time and effort – not to mention the climate and time zone differences they would have to factor in! Besides, it gives both parties impetus to keep your family in good health just hoping to catch you when you _do_ come back."

Hermione's smile grew. "But I won't meet my family at home, would I? I'd meet them on my terms with the use of the invisibility cloak."

"Of course," the older man chuckled, knowing that Hermione was on her way to regaining a sense of herself in her fight to preserve her own.

"Are you ready with your letters?" Quentin asked, once the levity died down.

"Oh yes," Hermione rummaged around in her pocket and pulled out five envelopes. "These are to Ron," she flipped over the top envelope to show Ron's name written neatly on the front, "Harry, Ginny, Mrs Weasley, and Dumbledore. I have already owled Stanwick."

Quentin nodded. He said nothing for a moment but surveyed her. "Hermione, I know things might seem uncomfortable now, but time is a great healer," he said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "The pain will fade eventually, and hopefully you'll be able to try and put all that has happened behind you and make a new life for yourself. I'm not saying this is a permanent arrangement, for we both know it can not be that, but it will give you time to find your feet again."

Giving Quentin a wry smile at his speech, Hermione nodded, "Thanks for understanding that I need this time to regain my sanity. I would've gone mad otherwise."

"If there is anything else you need, let me know," he looked down at her, unwilling to leave her alone to begin on this lonely path which would take her away from all she knew.

"You'd better go," Hermione said gently. "I can never forget how much you've done to help me."

"It was nothing," he replied gruffly. Turning away, Quentin prepared to depart. He couldn't speak as he hugged Hermione's too-thin frame before stepping over the threshold into the street.

Quentin did not stop her as she closed the door on him. Instead, he simply stared at the peeling paint of the door, wondering what was going to befall this remarkable girl, who in order to gain a measure of freedom, had broken away from the life she knew and loved, to embark on a journey that would take her he knew not where. He was glad though, that he would be able to keep an eye on her. Given time, Hermione would learn to live with what had happened to her, and hopefully, one day would return to the magical world and her rightful place in it.

Turning away from the cottage with a heavy heart, Quentin trudged down the street. Reaching the corner, he Disapparated, leaving Hermione alone in her new house to begin her life as a muggle.


	17. Epilogue

Authors Note: Finally it is here! I apologise for the delay but I was hit with a nasty respiratory infection which I'm just getting over and so haven't been able to write much over the past few weeks. There will be a sequel to this story (how can there not be) but I want to edit and tidy things up in this story before starting on the sequel. As always it is my reviewers who have given me the confidence to write and I can't thank you enough for your unfailing support which has enabled me to come so far. I also want to thank Campy Capybara for betaing this story for me and making it readable, believe me without her it would have been nothing. The disclaimer can be found in the prologue and please let me know what you thought of this chapter.

Epilogue

The day was warm. A light breeze ruffled the blinds folded neatly back at the open windows, while birdsong, gentle and melodic, drifted into the room, creating the elusion of peace. Flowers arranged in crystal vases round the room swayed in the teasing breeze, while their fresh scent perfumed the air.

The figure standing staring out of the south facing window stood as still as a statue looking down on the lush green dappled grounds of Malfoy Manor, his silvery blond hair glinting in the strong afternoon light. He seemed oblivious of the beauty of the vista stretched out before him, but stared straight ahead of him unmoving, his fingers splayed out on the window sill, gripping the smooth wood tightly. His shoulders were hunched as though determined to keep out the bright sunshine, which was bathing the rest of the room in its golden light.

Draco Malfoy sighed deeply, turning away from the window. It had been almost three weeks – three weeks of fruitless searching – but there was still no sign of her. It was almost as though she had disappeared off the face of the earth. He ran an agitated hand through his hair and once more felt the feeling of despair that he tried hard to keep at bay well up within him. How had it all gone so wrong? One moment they had just been married and all was well, and then she was gone, just like that, without a trace.

He began pacing the floor, his movements restless. He grimaced, remembering the bone numbing tiredness that had engulfed him after the ceremony. If his mother's description was accurate, Hermione had been just as tired as he – so how had she managed to get away? Draco knew only too well that Apparating took a lot of power. And as for creating a portkey… well, a wand was needed to make one, and he doubted that even if Hermione had access to a serviceable one, she wouldn't have the energy to even hold it up, let alone use it to create a portkey. Moreover, there were anti-Apparating wards over the entire Malfoy Manor and these had been strengthened to secure the grounds for the wedding. As far as he knew, only Severus Snape, being a close family friend, had access through the Malfoy wards, but Draco knew better than to suspect his Potions Master of helping Hermione get away – the Slytherin Head of House hated the mere sight of the Gryffindor, as evidenced from their seven shared years of Potions classes.

No, Hermione had had help from someone – but from whom?

For what felt like the thousandth time, his mind listed the people who had been at the Manor that day. There was Severus of course, the Lestranges, the Notts, father and son, the Averys, and the wizard who had conducted the ceremony; none of them would have helped her get away. They would have had no reason to do so. There were, of course the house elves, but every elf in the Manor had been dosed with Veritaserum and except for Zaki, none had even gone near Hermione.

So who could have helped Hermione get away?

Draco's only small consolation was that Hermione had not sought refuge with either Potter or Weasley. By all accounts, his nemeses were almost as desperate as he was to find her, although their state of anxiety was beyond him. Neither had a claim on her as he did, so why her disappearance had them in such a condition, he could not understand.

He felt angry; angry with Hermione for deserting him only moments after their marriage ceremony, and angry with his parents for allowing such a thing to happen. His anger at his parents burned, especially as it had been they and not him who had wanted such a precipitous marriage.

"Draco?"

The quiet voice made him look up. His father stood in the doorway observing him.

"I thought that we could go out riding this afternoon," Lucius suggested. "You've been brooding since this morning. A brisk broom ride would get your mind off things for a while."

"No," came the flat reply. "Hermione's gone missing, and you think a broom ride will get my mind off that fact?" he gave his father a derisive snort.

Lucius entered the room and walked across to his son, who had halted by the marble fireplace set into one wall.

"No, it won't," he agreed soberly, "But the exercise may help relax you a little and Merlin knows you need to relax." He cast a worried glance over his son's face. Draco's skin, always pale, now seemed papery. There were dark circles beneath the boy's eyes and his cheekbones seemed to stick out of his face. Lucius was worried about him. Draco had taken the entire situation very badly, not that Lucius blamed him for it.

"I don't want to relax!" Draco contradicted, biting out his words in anger, "All I want to do is find Hermione!"

"Draco," Lucius drawled, a warning touch infusing his tone, reminding his son to whom he was speaking. "We're doing everything we can to locate the girl," the elder Malfoy sighed, knowing that his son's anger was justified.

"Jones is here," Narcissa Malfoy announced, as she made her way into the room. As both men whirled round to face her, she added, "I have put him in your study, Lucius."

"It's about time he had some news for us," her husband answered. Of one accord, father and son moved towards the door and followed Narcissa down the curving staircase into Lucius' book-lined study.

A man, thin, with greying hair, was standing by the window, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He watched the three elegant Malfoys apprehensively, as they entered the room. When the large oak door silently shut behind them, the Malfoys seated themselves, and after a nod from Lucius, the slight man took a chair by the window, perching nervously on the edge.

"What have you found out?" Lucius clipped out.

Albert Jones cleared his throat nervously before saying, "As you know, I've been working night and day on this case…"

"I should think so, considering the exorbitant amount of money you're being paid," Lucius interrupted with a sneer. "Have you found the girl?" he asked impatiently.

Albert Jones sighed. He disliked the Malfoys' arrogant ways, but business was business and not even he could afford to turn his nose up at the amount that this lot were willing to pay him for tracking down some muggle-born witch. What was more, he was the best private investigator in the business, and Lucius Malfoy, one of his best customers. The only problem was that the damned girl was proving very difficult to find. He cleared his throat once more and said, "Well, we've tried all the leads you have given us, but they all lead to nothing."

At this, Draco, who was seated on the leather sofa opposite the investigator, leaned forward and hissed, "Nothing? All this time and you've come up with nothing?"

Albert Jones flushed slightly, but masking his own annoyance, answered coolly, "Please be assured we've done everything we can," he looked into Draco's narrowed eyes, "but the girl seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth." Looking back at Lucius, he continued, "You aren't the only ones looking for her, though. There are quite a number of others who are also searching for her."

"Is that so?" Lucius drawled, eyes narrowing, not attempting to hide his annoyance at the detective's lack of success.

"Yes," Jones nodded his head cautiously. "Albus Dumbledore's combing England looking for her, to no avail." The investigator sat very still, giving the appearance of nonchalance, even though he was eyeing the Malfoys warily. They were unpredictable at best, but at least for the moment they seemed distracted.

"Dumbledore can't find her?" This question from Narcissa held incredulity, "but how can that be? I would have thought that Dumbledore of all people would know where she was."

Lucius too, frowned in thought. "Yes, it is odd," he murmured, "If anything, she would have approached that old fool for shelter, but…"

"I can assure you," the investigator interjected, "Dumbledore knows as much as we do about the girl's whereabouts. As a matter of fact, I myself have seen him making enquiries of the girl's friends and family. Any information he received from them was identical to that obtained by my people."

"What else can you tell us?" Lucius asked, putting aside for the moment the puzzling revelation that Dumbledore didn't know of Hermione's current whereabouts.

"Like Dumbledore, I've questioned her family," Albert Jones went on. "All three Grangers are convinced that the subject is in India."

"India?" Draco burst out, but Narcissa laid a hand on his shoulder and he subsided.

"Every time I asked them about the girl's current whereabouts, they tell me that she is in India. Legillimency is not helping either; all I can see of their memories is a vague outline of Calcutta's main market, which doesn't tell us anything," Jones ended with a shrug.

"Interesting," Lucius mused. "All three tell you the same thing, you say?"

"Yes."

"Is there anyone else besides Dumbledore that's looking for her?" Narcissa asked, serenely.

"Yes. The Weasleys and Harry Potter have also visited the Grangers to find the subject's whereabouts. Stanwick are also searching for her, although their motives are entirely different." The investigator allowed himself a small smile, "They're worried that the girl has accepted a place at another rival school of Mediwizardry and are anxious that she does not go elsewhere for her training."

"Understandable," Lucius muttered. "The prestige of training Hogwarts' best student can only boost the university's reputation."

Reaching into a pocket, Jones drew out a parchment, which he handed to Lucius. "I made a copy of this from Stanwick's records. It might be of interest to you."

Lucius said nothing as he passed the parchment to his son after glancing through it.

Draco took the parchment and was surprised to see Hermione's neat writing covering it. The ink was smudged in some places, suggesting that her hand and not been quite steady when she had written it. Eagerly, his eyes devoured the words on the parchment:

"Dear Professor Archbold,

I am writing to inform you that I have reconsidered my career options and will no longer be joining Stanwick College of Healing and Mediwizadary as originally planned.

I apologise for any inconvenience caused by my decision.

Hermione Granger."

Draco closed his eyes with a frown, passing the parchment on to his mother. On opening his eyes, he glared at the investigator. "Very enlightening," he drawled bitterly, "is there anything else you have to tell us?"

"That's all we found out," the man answered. Enlarging a file he took out of his pocket, he placed it on Lucius' table. "This is the report of the investigation we have conducted."

"Excellent," Narcissa said, getting to her feet, her tone of voice conveying feelings contrary to her words. "If that is the extent of your success, I'm sure we will not be requiring your services any longer," her voice hardened.

The men in the room stood up when Narcissa got to her feet. Recognising that the meeting was over, Albert Jones nodded to Lucius as a House Elf ushered him from the room. He knew better than to finalise the payment for the investigation. The Malfoys were currently unhappy with the result of the investigation, but what little he had unearthed, he knew the Malfoys would use to their advantage, and he would be paid accordingly later.

The door of the study swung shut after the detective, leaving the Malfoy family alone.

"Pathetic little man," Narcissa commented in disappointment as she reseated herself beside Draco, but Lucius shook his head.

"Darling," he admonished his wife mildly, "Don't underestimate Jones' stature. He is the best money can buy," Lucius gave his wife a shark-like smile. "Absolutely worth the expense. Other investigators would have stopped at inquiring of Hermione's whereabouts from the Grangers, but Jones has expanded the trail to include people looking for her. Dumbledore…" his lips pursed in thought. "This piece of information puts a completely different light on things."

Collapsing into his seat at the disappointing news that his wife couldn't be found, Draco asked, "How so?"

"Well, it might mean that we aren't the only people Hermione is hiding from." Lucius got up and started pacing his study, pondering allowed, "I wonder why. There's more to this than meets the eye. If the girl just wanted to get away from us, she would certainly seek that old fool's protection."

Both Draco and Narcissa nodded at Lucius' argument.

"And yet… Jones has discovered that he is also looking for her. Why? Why would Hermione hide from Dumbledore?" Lucius stared at the carpet, his brow furrowed in thought.

"That's something we would all like to know, darling," Narcissa shook her head, "but trying to work out Dumbledore's motives won't help us."

Draco, however, was frowning in thought. "On the contrary, Mother. Dumbledore's motives might be an important piece of the puzzle. We know that Dumbledore's always favoured the Gryffindors. I wonder what it was that stopped Hermione going to him when she left?" He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Whatever it is, this investigation has confirmed something regarding my daughter-in-law's whereabouts." Lucius stated, causing the other two to look at him, perplexed. "It's obvious that Hermione is no longer in the magical world, nor actively using magic," he revealed. "This is the only reasonable explanation for her complete disappearance and our inability to track her down."

"Leave her magic behind?" Narcissa questioned disbelievingly. "No, not even she would do that. This world means too much to her. Why would she strive so hard to learn everything she could about this world, only to reject it completely and go back to living with muggles? It doesn't make any sense for her to do such a preposterous thing."

"It would certainly make sense if she is adamant about hiding from us and if she had a run in with Dumbledore and wish to sever all ties with him. If she had no where to go in the magical world, and the only option left for her was to go back to the muggle world…" Lucius trailed off, his mind busily weighing up the situation. "Yes, if you ask me, I'm almost positive this is the way things stand now." Suddenly, he broke out into a mirthless smile. "Yes, this might just work out to our benefit," he murmured to himself. "If we find my beloved daughter-in-law before Dumbledore does, we'll have an easier time convincing her of our cause."

Silence followed Lucius' pronouncement.

Finally Draco spoke. "Father's right. There's much more to this than meets the eye. Hermione, for some reason, is just as keen to avoid Dumbledore, as she is to avoid us. Marriage…" he faltered. He caught himself before adding "to me…can't have been the only reason to make her go into hiding like this."

"No," Narcissa agreed, her hand stroking her son's blond hair. She recognised Draco's hesitation for what it was, and for her son's sake, changed the subject. Looking at her husband, she asked, "If Hermione's in the muggle world and not using magic, how are we to find her?"

Lucius, still thinking of the possibilities of Hermione hiding from Dumbledore and what this could mean for the Dark Lord, missed the exchanged between mother and son. At Narcissa's pointed question, he looked up. "It's obvious that she has hidden herself using a secret keeper, but who that is, is anyone's guess."

"Well, it's certainly not Potter or Weasley, nor anybody on Dumbledore's side," Draco frowned. "I don't know of anyone else who was close enough to her to inspire that amount of trust. The Brocklehursts?" He glanced at his mother.

"No, I doubt it. Emily Brocklehurst would be beside herself if she discovered that you've married a muggleborn over her pureblood daughter. No, not her insipid daughter either," she tilted her head considering. "Her family!" Narcissa smiled. "Yes, doubtless she would still be under the Fidelius, but she will most certainly be in contact with her family! If you ask me, all this nonsense about her being in India is merely a ploy to put people off her scent."

"A powerful Confundus charm no doubt," Lucius nodded at his wife, smiling at her with a touch of pride. "Yes, my darling," his mercurial eyes darkened. "The family is the thread that will unravel her whereabouts."

ZoZoZoZo

"She told us that she's currently in India, but really, we don't know when she'll be back," Lyn Granger smiled.

Draco noticed the slight frown creasing her brows as she said this, and his suspicion that the woman was under a Confundus charm was strengthened. He took another sip of his tea, eyeing the woman thoughtfully over the rim of his cup. He supposed that as far as muggles went, she wasn't too bad. About an inch or so taller than Hermione, the woman gave off an air of togetherness that he could not help but admire. Her manners were impeccable and this house, although tiny by Malfoy standards, was tastefully decorated. A number of blinking, humming and shiny objects Draco did not know the function of were scattered round the room.

"I wouldn't worry," Peter smiled, "no doubt she wanted to get away for a while." Of medium height, he was well built his hair greying slightly at the temples. Like his wife, he exuded an air of calm togetherness and quiet confidence.

"I never heard Hermione mention you," Mathew Granger said, looking at Draco with barely disguised mistrust, from his chair beside the open window. "I mean if you really are Hermione's good friend, then why hasn't she ever mentioned you?" he asked bluntly.

"Mathew!" his mother remonstrated, shooting him a speaking glance.

"Well it's true," the boy persisted, glowering, "if your friendship with Hermione is as close as you make it out to be, then why hasn't she mentioned you to us before?"

"Your father and I met Draco and his parents at Hermione's Graduation ceremony," his mother replied levelly, glaring at her son's boorish expression, as her husband nodded in confirmation.

Draco could see the boy's hostile eyes narrow still further. They were Hermione's eyes, deep brown, fringed with long curling lashes. He looked a lot like Hermione with his curly brown hair, topping a clean-featured face, his mouth currently turned down with suspicion. Draco realised that this boy, his brother-in-law, could prove to be a real stumbling block in his efforts to find Hermione through her parents, and was therefore worth the effort to win over. Once he was on Draco's side, Mathew would prove to be an invaluable ally; and right now he needed all the help he could get.

Giving Mathew what he hoped would be interpreted as a 'sincere' smile, he explained, "My _friendship_—"he cast his eyes down, giving a wry smile, his tone suggested that it was an euphemism, "—with Hermione was not exactly… _publicly_ accepted." In a way, he had spoken the truth, but it was the way he said it that led the Granger family to assume there was more to his friendship with Hermione than she had revealed.

Mathew's eyes grew large, as he exclaimed, "Blimey! You're her boyfriend!"

'If only they knew the truth,' Draco mused to himself. He nodded to acknowledge Mathew's statement, and cast his eyes down, giving his audience the impression that while he was pleased his girlfriend's family _finally_ knew the truth about their relationship, he was unsure of his reception by them.

Sure enough, the muggles rushed to show their gratification and acceptance of Draco's story.

"I thought as much when I saw you at the Graduation," Lyn smiled at Draco. "Didn't I say so, dear?" she turned to include her husband. "Of course when I mentioned it to Hermione, she was quite flustered and flatly denied that there was anything between the two of you. But you know, mothers can tell these things." She suddenly frowned, adding, "But Mathew's right, Hermione's never mentioned you to us. Then again, she can be quite reserved and this hasn't been helped by her being away from us for most of her secondary education. We didn't know about some of her adventures until quite recently…" she trailed off. "Not publicly accepted," Lyn murmured, recalling Draco's words, "Does that mean that Hermione's other friends didn't approve of your relationship?" She fixed Draco with a steady penetrating gaze much like his mother's own.

"Mrs. Granger, you need to understand, Hermione and I… well, we…" he took a breath and plunged in, "we have a long, rather _volatile_ history." He pursed his lips uncomfortably and continued. "It's… it's like this. Hermione and I… well, we've fought on opposing sides from our first year at Hogwarts. It's not unusual; we are from opposing Houses, after all," he gave a deprecating smile. "But _this_ year, somehow, we discovered a mutual love of learning, and well, one thing led to another," he ran a hand through his hair, giving Lyn a boyish grin.

Draco saw that Mrs. Granger gave him a smile of understanding. For that matter, Mr. Granger and Mathew both looked amused at the story he wove.

"Rival houses, did you say?" Peter gave his wife a wink.

Draco nodded, adding, "Hermione even had dinner with my parents at my house during the Easter holidays, while she was staying with the Brocklehursts," he sighed. After a short silence, he added, "Hermione felt that it was wiser to keep our relationship a secret until after Graduation, which was only a few months away. Like I said, we have a lot of history, and she suggested that once we were away from all the Hogwarts rivalry, and when she got to Stanwick…"

"I understand perfectly," Lyn nodded as Draco trailed off.

"And you can't blame Hermione for wanting to be a bit cautious after her break up with Tom Angers last year," Mathew said in a rare display of thoughtfulness, "she probably didn't want to announce your relationship to the world until she was sure that you weren't some gitty skunk."

Trying not to flinch at being called a gitty skunk, Draco explained, "Well, you can see now why I'm anxious to find her. I mean, after our date at the Lock and Key, she went off without a word to anyone…" he gave the Grangers a worried frown, "and now she's suddenly gone off to India without a word, and all my owl posts return undelivered, and there's not a single note from her…" he added in a slightly panicked tone, and sure enough, he had the Grangers all nodding in sympathy.

"Yes," Peter agreed. "Yes, it must be very distressing for you."

He fell silent, and Draco knew he was thinking hard. He turned his gaze on Mathew who was watching him thoughtfully.

Finally Peter spoke and Draco knew he was picking his words carefully, "I think Hermione has her reasons for going away. We didn't really discuss it at length, but believe me, it wasn't a decision she made lightly."

"I can appreciate that," Draco countered with all the calm he could muster, "but at the same time, like her other friends, I'm worried about her. They haven't been _exactly_ helpful when I ask about her," he rubbed the back of his neck. "But I can't allow them become obstacles to my seeing her. I can't. I cannot just give up on a relationship in which I have invested a lot of time and emotion; Hermione means too much to me to walk away."

"I fully understand," Lyn said compassionately, "Look Draco, we'll let you know as soon as there's any news of her, ok? I can't promise you any more than that."

Draco knew that further questioning would get him nowhere. So much for honesty and openness. Putting on what he hoped looked like a brave smile, he rose to his feet to take his leave.

"Well, thank you for all your time, Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger," he began.

"Oh please, call me Lyn," Mrs. Granger smiled, as she too got up, "Mrs. Granger makes me feel positively ancient."

Peter nodded, "Tell me about it, it's bad enough when patients address us by our last names, we don't need that from Hermione's friends as well!"

Draco smiled and after farewells were said, turned to the door. As he was leaving the house, Mathew Granger shrugged in a bored manner and said, "I'll accompany you for a bit, I could do with stretching my legs."

Draco grinned inwardly, finally something was going right. He wanted to get to know this prickly individual for his instincts told him that Mathew, rather than his parents, would be a better way to reach Hermione.

The two set out together, their footsteps loud along the quiet road, which was empty of traffic.

"So tell me a bit about yourself," Draco invited casually, strolling along.

Mathew grimaced. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"Oh anything. What you like and don't like, I suppose. Hermione didn't mention you much at school, so I'm curious to find out more about you." Draco kept his voice light; it wouldn't do to show too much interest.

"Yeah well, we sort of grew apart what with her going away to school like that. I mean I also go to a boarding school, but it's not the same. We only saw Hermione around once a year, and apart from her letters, there's not that much contact with her, if you know what I mean." Mathew kicked a stone along the pavement as he spoke.

"Where do you go to school?" Draco enquired, curious in spite of himself.

"Haileybury, it's in Hartford, and not too far away," Mathew answered, sounding bored.

"You mentioned it was a boarding school?" Draco tried again. Getting to know this individual was like getting blood out of a stone, and Draco suspected that the latter would have been a lot easier to achieve.

Mathew nodded, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Then, as though coming to a decision, he said, "Yeah. I am a weekly boarder, so I come home at the weekends. There are some kids in school, though, who live as far away as Scotland. Like Hermione, they only go home for the holidays, if at all."

"Yeah," Draco agreed, "No one went home at weekends at our school, although it would be a simple matter to go home for the weekends. So, got any plans for when you leave school?" He thought he ought to be awarded a Merlin First Class for his patience, the boy took so much to draw out of his shell!

"I want to go into medicine actually. You know, train to become a doctor. Hermione was all set to become a Healer or some such before she upped and left." His mouth turned down, and it suddenly occurred to Draco that under his tough exterior, Mathew was probably missing Hermione as much as anyone.

"Good for you," Draco encouraged with a smile. "Healing is certainly a worthwhile profession. I am sure that medicine," he hoped that sounded right, "is also very interesting."

The conversation continued in desultory fashion as they made their way to the park. Through his persistence, Draco learned that Mathew's greatest love was football. He had first started playing at the age of four and was on the school football team. He also enjoyed playing the guitar, and his favourite type of music being classical Jazz. Draco's interest was peaked. He had rarely talked to muggles before; much less hold such a long interesting conversation. Moreover, Draco could sense that with Mathew, once one got beyond his hard exterior, he would reveal even more wisdom, much like his sister. Mathew Granger, Draco felt, was certainly worth getting to know, if for no other reason than appeasing Draco's curiosity about muggles.

They had reached the park boundary and Draco turned to the other boy.

"Well, this is where I leave you."

Mathew, his face lighting up, asked, "How? Are you going to disappear or whatever it's called or travel a different way?"

"I'm going to Disapparate," Draco glanced round them to ensure there was no one in ear shot, "it's the quickest form of travel."

"Wow! It must be so cool to be able to just disappear and appear almost instantly somewhere else." Mathew's eyes were wide with interest as he spoke.

Looking thoughtfully at the other boy, Draco nodded, realising that in the last minute or so, Mathew had shown more animation than during the last hour he had spent with him. Not even when Mathew had been talking about football, the supposed love of his life, had he looked as excited as he did now. Had Draco finally managed to find something that would help him get him to know this brother-in-law of his?

"You bet." Then after a slight pause, Draco added, "I tell you what Mathew, when I have a bit of free time, we can tandem Apparate if you like. That's where two people Apparate together. I will be the one doing the Apparating and you will simply be accompanying me."

"Really? I asked Hermione if she would let me disappear with her like that, but she said that it was dangerous and that—"

Draco chuckled. Finally he had found the thing that would make this brother-in-law of his open up – magic!

"Oh no, it's not dangerous. It's simply a case of knowing what you're doing. Hermione probably was hesitant to tandem Apparate because she's never done it before. I've done it successfully on a number of occasions, so you should be safe enough with me."

"Wow! That'd be so cool!" Mathew exclaimed. "Do you ride a broom as well?"

Draco's mind was busy planning and strategising as he agreed to take the other boy on a broom ride one day. Bidding Mathew farewell, he Disapparated.

XoXoXoXo

"The Dark Lord," Draco spat out in disgust, "who cares what he—"

"Draco, that's enough!" Narcissa broke in, "Malfoys do not disparage those who deserve our respect!" She glared reproachfully at her son as she spoke. "Walls have ears, my boy."

Draco let out a bitter laugh that made his mother close her eyes in exasperation. "Mother, dear," he drawled sarcastically, "if it weren't for our _deserving_ Lord, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place, now would we? Thanks to him, my wife has disappeared without a trace, and could be Merlin only knows where!"

"As I said before," Narcissa repeated calmly, "Watch what you say, Draco. Walls have ears. The Dark Lord had his reasons for wanting the marriage to take place so soon. It was unfortunate that we had to give you the potion when we gave it to Hermione, but you must understand we had no choice in the matter."

"I always said father was wrong to join forces with the likes of him," Draco said quietly, glancing round his mother's sitting room in spite of himself. "The Dark Lord," he sneered, "He has no interest in purebloods. If he had, he would never've suggested that Hermione and I marry. That… that _creature_ is a power-hungry, arbitrary dictator, mother! Pureblood interests? Ha! Just because he read somewhere that due to genetics or whatever it's called, purebloods were dying out and the only way forward was to marry muggleborns to remedy the situation, he decided it was all right! What gave him the right to decide? And for your information, that's a far cry from his original mantra of getting rid of muggleborns and you know it."

Narcissa knew that in all honesty, she could not deny what her son had just said, for she had thought the exact same thing when Lucius informed her of the Dark Lord's suggestion of a wife for Draco. She had to admit secretly that she was relieved that Draco didn't want to join his ranks. The things she saw her husband do was enough to make anyone's stomach turn, and for what? As Draco said, that creature was just arbitrary enough to give today only to take tomorrow. No, besides, Malfoys were not supposed to take orders from anyone. Was that not written in the Malfoys' Creed?

"Be that as it may," she prevaricated, "What's done is done, and there is no point bringing up the past like this. It won't solve the current problem, Draco. Hermione's family is under a Confundus charm to ensure they don't give away her whereabouts, which means, my dear boy, that they might have an inkling as to where she is. Moreover, we know that the Confundus cannot be traced to Hermione, leading me to suspect that there is another person who arranged matters – and who most likely is her secret keeper."

"I know all that, Mother. True, her family may not be able to tell me where she is, but who's to say they can't lead me to where she may be staying?" Draco smirked. "I'll be damned if I let others run my life for me. I'm determined to find my wife no matter what!"

Narcissa looked appraisingly at her son. He seemed to have aged in the last few weeks. No longer was he the teenager who had graduated from Hogwarts, carefree and looking forward to his future, but he had become dour and rather morose of late. This was a side of his character that she had hitherto not seen, and she wondered not for the first time if she and Lucius had been right to force the boy into a marriage so swiftly. True, he had always been taken with Hermione Granger, and given time, would likely have persuaded her into marriage, especially since there were no more restrictions to his pursuit of her, but to force all this on him in such a short space of time…

"Tell me something," she said quietly looking him in the eye, "if things had been different… if Hermione hadn't managed to get away as she did, would you have been happy with her?"

Nodding once, he replied solemnly, "Yes, Mother." He sighed, closing his eyes, "My anger, Mother, is not at your choice of bride for me. On the contrary, I like Hermione very much, and in time, I believe she would've learned to reciprocate my feelings. What I can't understand, though, is why the haste? One moment, all was going fine – we were out of Hogwarts, and I could see that given more time, Hermione _would_ accept my suit. I had plans, Mother, plans to court her properly; and dinner that night was the first step in doing things my way, to show her what things could be like… but before I could even—" he gritted his teeth, anger simmering below the surface "—before I could even _propose_, the next thing I realise, I'm to be prepared for the wedding ceremony taking place in an hour!"

He gave a bitter laugh. "Merlin! I'm not surprise Hermione left the way she did – if it were me, I'd have done the very same! The entire fiasco was an exercise in madness. She probably thinks she'd married into St. Mungo's insane ward!"

Narcissa was silent, observing the dejected stance of her son. They had had this discussion countless times before, but she and Lucius had never told Draco the exact reason for the hasty marriage, simply saying that it was necessary and couldn't be avoided. Surely it was time to do so now? Draco would not be able to rest until he knew, and she suspected that it may help him understand their actions a bit better, even though he may not agree with them. She glanced round the room, remembering her admonition to her son, even though she knew with certainty that this room, like the rest of the house, was covered with anti-spy wards, most of which had been here for centuries. She didn't think Lucius would be too pleased that she had told Draco the truth, but it was high time he knew of the reason why things had happened as they did. Maybe then, he would be able to let go of some that pent up anger.

"It's complicated," she began delicately.

Draco sat up. "What was complicated?" he asked warily. The magazine he had been flicking through was thrown to one side, as he stared intently at his mother.

"Draco, as I have told you, there was a reason the marriage had to take place so swiftly," Narcissa explained. "The original plan was to leave things in your hands. After all, as you said, you and Hermione were getting on quite well and with those uncouth friends of hers out of the way now that you had both graduated, it would have only been a matter of time until Hermione came to see you as something more than a friend. Then on the evening that you went out to the Lock and Key for dinner with her, your father was called by the Dark Lord," Narcissa paused and hesitated. Draco knew that the true reason for the marriage would soon be revealed. "Your father was gone for about an hour, and when he returned, he told me that the marriage would have to take place the next day. The Dark Lord was planning a move against Dumbledore's resistance group the day after that."

Draco frowned, his only reaction to his mother's revelation.

Narcissa carried on speaking, "The move was going to be a big one. But it would mean that Hermione would be unattainable once it was over. We knew for certain Hermione would never marry you, especially since the move was against the people she held in respect." Narcissa moved to a seat closer to her son. "Draco, you know Hermione has always been suspicious of us; and once the move was over, she wouldn't want to come anywhere near any of us, so it was imperative we got you married before the Dark Lord's attack. Kidnap, you see was not enough, it had to be marriage. With kidnap, there was always a chance she could get away, and that would be that, but marriage would ensure that she would still be bound to you however much she tried to hide."

Draco remained silent, but Narcissa could see that her reasoning was grudgingly being accepted by her son.

"Time was something we had very little of, and although you were fond of Hermione, we couldn't risk you going all chivalrous on us and refusing to go through with the marriage because it wasn't fair to Hermione. You gave us no option – we had to give you some of the potion along with Hermione. Not as much as she had, but enough that you didn't protest at the suddenness of it all."

Draco absorbed Narcissa's explanation. "You're right. I would have asked questions about the abrupt change of plan."

Narcissa nodded at this, and then resumed, "Anyway, we managed to arrange everything in the nick of time. We got Old Halaran to perform the ceremony; he wasn't happy about being rushed, but he was properly compensated for his trouble." Narcissa smirked. "In fact, everything, every detail was going according to plan, until Hermione's disappearance. I can only presume that in our haste to get everything done, we didn't check the wards on the house as carefully as we ought." Narcissa shook her head.

"Then again, we're assuming that Hermione's disappearance is her own decision… but who would want to kidnap her? We've no ransom note – and surely her kidnappers would know better than to take a Malfoy bride. No, she's gone, and with her, she's taken the Dark Lord's victory."

"What's the Dark Lord to do with Hermione's disappearance?"

"Darling boy, don't you see? Not only did her disappearance upset you, it also called a halt to the Dark Lord's plans. During the first days of Hermione's disappearance, we all thought that she had gone to Dumbledore. And if we were to move against Dumbledore, and hurt Hermione in the process, well, that was an option the Dark Lord was not willing to risk."

"Merlin's beard," Draco breathed now. "I hadn't realised there was so much more to it all. So Hermione upset not only our plans but his as well?" he chewed his lip. "Well, good!" he nodded churlishly, "He deserves all he gets."

"Draco, I didn't tell you all this just so you could gloat about the Dark Lord's plans going awry," his mother admonished, but Draco ignored her.

"Good, his plans were upset as well, that's good!" he muttered to himself.

"Draco! Stop this. I know that you don't like the Dark Lord, but there is no need to be so childish about all this."

"Sorry Mother," Draco smirked, "You're right, I am veering off the point. Do you know what it was he had planned?"

"No, I think your father does, but naturally, he isn't at liberty to tell us."

"What I want to know," Draco said, now frowning, "is why he's so keen that Hermione and I marry. I'll never join him; he must surely know that by now. And why is he so anxious that Hermione not get hurt? Surely he isn't hoping to get into my good graces!" He let out a snort of laughter at the thought.

"Whatever the reason, I am sure it isn't that one," Narcissa shrugged elegantly, as only she could, while secretly wondering whether Draco wasn't on to something. The Dark Lord was persistent in his pursuit of followers, and so far Draco had refused to join him. She suspected that her revelation would make Draco hate the Dark Lord even more, but at least it ensured the boy would never join his ranks.

Narcissa smiled as she got up. "Some of us have things to do Draco, I'll see you later."

She left the room in a rustle of skirts, and Draco lay back on the sofa, hands locked behind his head, thinking.

So thanks to the Dark Lord and his early wedding plans, Hermione had run away. Draco's mouth thinned into a line as hate welled up within him. He smiled bitterly, remembering his childhood when he had idolised Voldemort as the hero who would deliver the wizarding race from the clutches of muggles. This adulation had continued until his fourth year, when his father had felt the mark burn for the first time in thirteen years. Draco had watched, as his father had become increasingly withdrawn over the next year, spending more and more of his free time on his own, rather than with his family. Lines of fatigue and strain had etched themselves around Lucius's eyes and Draco had started to question the wisdom of joining someone who expected you to drop everything to pander to his beck and call.

Draco hated that… that _creature_… that being that could no longer be described as human. This hate had started at the end of Draco's fifth year when, while obeying that… _thing's_… orders, his father had been caught and shamed in public. Lucius' stint in Azkaban, although short, had been traumatic for Narcissa, not to mention for Draco himself. During Draco's sixth year, a lot more Death Eaters had been recruited, and he had watched as people he had once considered friends took the Mark. Draco's hate of the creature had been compounded when Gregory Goyle, one of his oldest friends, was killed by Voldemort, all because lumbering Goyle had not obeyed one of his orders quick enough.

Draco suppressed a shudder. Right now, one of his few comforts was that not even Voldemort could find Hermione. All his so-called power and knowledge was unable to break even a simple Fidelius charm if he didn't know who her secret keeper was.

The room was getting dark as Draco got wearily to his feet.

Consciously, he felt as though he had aged over the past few weeks. Was this because of the marriage ceremony? Was this a sense of… of loss? This nameless feeling that had driven him to seek her out – he couldn't explain it away as it ate at him for every moment she was apart from him. He would not rest until Hermione had been found, and he would do everything in his power to ensure that she was found. She was now a part of him whether she liked it or not. A living breathing part of him that he wanted with him, no matter the circumstances that had forged the marriage between them.

A grim smile played about his mouth as he left the room, determination etched in every line of his body. He would get his Hermione back, even if it were the last thing he ever did.


End file.
